The alley was dark, shelves lying in uneven broken shambles, barely attached to the walls anymore, and bowling balls and pins lay scattered across the filthy floors. The building creaked ominously occasionally, but it was the safest place he'd found so far.

Kaagor sat hidden under one of the tables in front of the old bowling lanes, about three tables away from the rotten pizza box he had seen. He had hoped for some food—dwarven stomachs, along with their livers, were stalwart things—but there was nothing there except what used to be crusts. That box could have been weeks old for all he knew.

The alley creaked again and the radio on his hip he had found burst into static, making him flinch.

A shadow over the dusty, cracked windows above him fell on the glass before a hand pressed to it, scratching at the webs.

He tensed, growling, and rolled his ax in his hand. No way he'd go down without a fight.

"Who are you?"

He jumped in surprise, hitting his head on the table with a curse, and jerked out from under it, brandishing his ax.

"Where did you get that?"

Kraagor paused. The static at his hip fell silent.

It was a little human girl sitting on top of the table he had been under. She was pale and disturbingly slim, but she had pretty blue eyes and long blond hair pulled in a ponytail. Oddly enough, she didn't look scared or hurt. That didn't seem possible in this world.

"What are you doing here? This isn't a place for a little girl."

"Why isn't it?" She frowned, crossing her arms and swinging her legs over the edge of the table, uncaring that she may kick him.

"Monsters." Kraagor looked out the cracked windows, though he remembered why he hadn't before a moment later. The fog outside was too thick—he couldn't see anything. All he knew was that the hand had disappeared.

He looked back at the little girl, stifling a sigh. He had to protect her. There was no way he'd let a kid run around a place like this, but he wasn't sure if he could even protect himself, let alone her.

"Huh?" She frowned, pushing off of the table and landing on her feet. "Monsters? Don't be stupid. Everyone knows monsters aren't real."

Kraagor paused, then looked at the girl, frowning in confusion. "…You don't see them?"

"See what? Are you crazy?" The girl frowned, scuffing her shoes on the floor and putting her hands on her hips. "Rachel told me to not talk to crazy people."

Kraagor glanced at the window again, then at the girl. "Why don't you come with me? It's dangerous here. Little kids shouldn't run around alone."

She arched an eyebrow, taking a step back. "I don't think so. I don't go with strangers."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

The general hum of static at his hip burst to life.

The door to the bowling alley started to rattle and something groaned loudly behind it.

Kraagor jumped, brandishing his ax and running to the girl, grabbing her arm. "Stay behind me!"

"Let go, you weirdo!"

She stomped on his foot, crunching down on his toes, making him recoil and wheel back with a surprised curse.

She immediately tore her arm from his grip.

"You brat! You'll get killed!"

"Bye!"

The girl darted past the alleys to a broken down door tucked in the back, glancing towards him only to smirk before running through.

Kraagor swore, shaking out his bruised foot, and made a movement to go after her.

The front door crashed open in a shower of splinters.

He looked up.

His throat closed.

"Oh gods…"

Pain exploded in her temple and she snapped awake, her mouth open to scream but no sound coming out, and there was a weight on her head, holding her down.

Terror gripped her chest and her eyes rolled, her breath whistling between her lips, dizziness grabbing her head. "H-help me…"

"Sleep."

The weight on her head put more pressure on her brow, warmth curling out into her skin, and her eyes rolled again, pulling her into a dreamless sleep.

There was a long while of silence, and her twin in the bed across from her didn't stir.

The man sitting on the edge of her bed let out a soft sigh of relief, taking his hand off the girl's forehead and leaning away from her, needing to take a breather. The darkness had taken an unprecedented toll on him, even in the context of the last several nights he had invaded. He'd forgotten what it was like to actually feel overtaxed, and all this from dreams…

He wondered what it was like for Kraagor to be wondering around that… whatever that place was.

Girard glanced weakly over at the door, closing his eyes when he realized that no one was coming in. Under normal circumstances, he would have thought nothing of hiding his activities with illusions, since he was so strong at this point that there was only a select handful of people who could sense anything past it. Soon Kim happened to be one of the select handful, and the surprising strength of the dark energy this night may have been powerful enough to be sensed past his illusions.

Though apparently, the stress of the situation had actually taken a toll on the great Soon Kim. He was sleeping heavier than Girard had ever known him to, and the constant Evil that covered the kids like clouds of poison was probably much worse for paladins than it was for an illusionist.

He briefly wondered if possessing so much Evil inside of them made the children count as Evil. How ironic would that be? Soon would fall just for associating with his own kids.

He shook his head, glancing down at the restless girl beside him. With her eyes closed, it was so much easier to look at her.

He stood up, pulling the blanket she had knocked off in her struggles back over her gently shivering body, and padded out of the room.

A sheen of sweat thickened on Young's body, the chest of drawers across from the foot of her bed rattling on its stubby legs violently. Tai lay face-down on his bed under the window, unnaturally still and oblivious, something on the back of his hand shimmering.

A blue and red rune on Young's forehead appeared, glowing softly, and the rattling ceased.

"Good morning."

Young jumped a little at the voice even though she must have known he was there.

Soon frowned, putting his cup of tea down on the table. The girl looked even unhealthier that morning. The circles under her eyes resembled those of a raccoon, stark against unnaturally pale skin, and he could swear she was twitching a little.

"…Morning, sir."

She ducked her head, her tangled hair falling in her face, and shuffled towards the overhead cabinets. Her hands shook with exhaustion when she reached up and took a mug out, standing still for a while before jerking, as if remembering what she wanted to do, and then she went to the stove where a kettle was whistling. She reached for the metal handle without putting anything on her hands.

"Careful."

In a blink, Soon was besides her, holding her wrist away from the burning hot kettle. "Sit down. I can prepare it for you."

She looked up at him, and again, he was struck by her face, especially her eyes. There was a lot of himself in her features, but he saw his wife as well. The noble delicacy of her jaw. The slenderness of her neck. Her lashes, her shoulders, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear and bit her lip when she concentrated… but her eyes…

Every time he looked at her or Tai, he was reminded of Mijung, but every time he saw her eyes, he remembered who had fathered them.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that idea.

"…I can make tea."

Her voice was distant, still in whatever nightmare that had tormented her the night before. The dark energy that always followed her was thicker today, choking like smoke and curling around her body like a malignant cancer he couldn't for the life of him destroy. Her very presence in the room made it hard to breathe, but he didn't care: he just wanted her to be near.

"You were about to burn yourself. The kettle is very hot." He gently nudged her towards the table and she absently sat down. "I'll make you breakfast. What would you like?"

"…" Young propped her head on her fists, eyes foggy with sleep. "I'm not hungry."

"You should try to eat anyway." Soon kept his expression smooth, but he was worried. He had adopted the children two weeks ago, and since then, Young's health seemed to have declined, if that were at all possible. He didn't dare try introducing them to his world at this stage, but he couldn't help but feel increasingly agitated by how little progress it felt like he was making, even with Girard's help. Or, well, Girard's brand of help. The constant tension between him wasn't making things easier, and he didn't think Girard was here to help him, but he couldn't help but be glad that he wasn't completely on his own and his ex-comrade had been okay (reluctantly so) to the children despite his grudge.

"I'm not hungry."

Soon used a thick cloth to lift the kettle and pour the boiling water into the mug. "What kind of tea do you want, then?"

"Earl Gray, please. No sugar."

He glanced over at her, arching an eyebrow. That was the same thing he had drank every day since he was her age.

He looked away before she noticed it, however. It wouldn't do for her to see him staring.

"I see that your nightmares disturbed you again last night."

He was glad that Girard and Tai were late sleepers, or that he and Young were early birds. If her brother had been present, he wouldn't be able to have a proper conversation with her. What was especially worrying him was that, usually, she woke up within minutes of him, around six, to go for a morning jog, and she hadn't this time. She didn't give it acknowledgement, but he of all people recognized the significance in that.

"I'm fine." She shrugged evasively, looking away and running a hand through her hair. She was more compliant than her brother and certainly easier to deal with, but she seemed to share at least a mild form of his distrust and secretiveness. It didn't escape his notice how tense she got when he or Girard touched her or got too close, so he supposed that she wasn't interested in sharing more of the nightmares with him.

"If you're going to lie, I suggest making it plausible." Soon put a mug of tea in front of the girl. "Don't drink it immediately. It's still hot."

She nodded absently, her eyelids drooping. "You wouldn't be interested in nightmares anyway."

"On the contrary, I would." Soon sat across from her, sipping his tea quietly. "But I won't pry if you don't want to talk."

"…" She looked away, closing her eyes as though she would fall asleep right there at the table. "How did your wife die?"

He paused for a beat.

"She was murdered."

Her eyes snapped open and she looked right at him. "…Really?"

"That's what I know." He laced his fingers together on the table, cocking his head. Tai looked more like their mother than Young did, but he still thought of Mijung when he looked at her.

"Do you know who did it?"

Soon shook his head.

"I know what put her in the position to be killed. I don't know who did it." He took a sip of his tea, keeping his feelings from his face. The ache in his heart, so much sharper since he had found out about the gods' deception, gave him a pang mixed with guilt. "She was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked…"

The slightest smile twitched at the corner of his lips, his eyes focusing on the girl again. The ache eased again, if only a little. "No, don't be sorry. I was surprised you didn't ask sooner. I would like to have a relationship with you and your brother beyond being a guardian: that entitles you to the right to ask me what you want. I don't mind."

Young still looked ashamed and she averted her eyes, blowing on her tea before taking a small sip, wincing when it was still hot.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Young, but I understand if you are." He glanced at the clock, noting that it was seven-thirty. "I suggest you wake up your brother and get ready for school. Take a snack of some sort if you don't want to eat breakfast or you'll be hungry later on."

She looked at him, then gave a tentative smile. "Okay."

She finished her tea and put her cup away in the dishwasher before scurrying away to get her brother. Soon looked down at the table, frowning. He'd have to retreat to his meditation room before eight. Girard usually came to the kitchen then, and the two men were making every effort to not actually encounter each other, which was a little difficult since they were sharing a house in a foreign world which neither of them had a clue how to traverse.

He swirled his tea in his cup and sighed softly, standing up and pushing his chair back. He had to plan out the day. He and Girard were trying to find out more about this 'Silent Hill' place, but he wasn't going to fool himself into thinking they had the same motivation. If he wanted to find a way to exorcise the darkness from Young, he had to do it himself.

Young…

He had a daughter.

He sighed softly before finishing his now-cold tea and rinsing out the cup. He really needed some time to meditate.

He left the room before Girard could wake.

"Cheryl? Is that what you're going by?"

The woman gave him a tired scowl, pushing her dyed blond hair from her face. They sat in an isolated booth in a corner while the usual activity of the noontime diner bustled around them, but nothing about those dark eyes were cheerful. Just looking at them made Girard feel like the room had dropped ten degrees.

"Yeah. The name my dad gave me. But I doubt you asked me here just to talk about what I'm called." She picked at the toast she had ordered, not even taking a bite. "Get on with it. You mentioned that place."

"S—"

"Don't say the name."

The edge in her tone reminded him of the many shell-shocked seniors he had encountered during his campaign with the Scribble, only she wasn't a senior. Girard shrugged, propping his head on his fists. He knew how to be diplomatic with sources of information, especially shady ones. Perhaps not Soon's strong suite, but his.

He pushed thoughts of Soon out of his head quickly.

"Alright. I won't say it." He folded his arms on the table. "I just want to know about it."

"Hold it, you need to answer a couple questions first."

He nodded, staying as passive as possible. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know why you're interested. I want to know how you found Douglas's number or our address."

"Fair enough." The sharp paranoia in the girl's eyes put him on edge, and being on edge made it difficult to stay so agreeable. He had dealt with paranoid types before—hell, he could be considered one of them—but there was just something disturbingly rough about the woman's look. Like she was ready to whip out a bat and club him to death if he poked one toe out of line. He couldn't be sure about how powerful she was, so it was best to avoid confrontations. "A friend of mine went in there a while ago. I plan on bringing him out by any means necessary, since some people aren't willing to try to help at all."

He couldn't stop a touch of resentment from reaching his tone at the last few words.

"And you've had a bit of a violent streak since you left that place, I heard. When you make a reputation, news travels fast. I dug around for names of people who were involved, one happened to be your boyfriend, and I got your name and address from that."

Her nose wrinkled, those dark eyes flickering with disgust. "Douglas is not my boyfriend."

He couldn't stop a skeptical look. "You live together."

"He's, like, three times my age! Ugh, we just share an apartment. Not like we share a room or something."

For a moment, he saw a flicker of the woman she used to be, normal. Of course, the flicker was gone fast.

"Now can I ask my questions?"

She frowned, rubbing her temples, thoroughly back in 'shell-shocked paranoid woman' mode. "Listen, I want nothing more to do with anything those crazy people do. I just came to say that, whoever you plan on saving, give it up."

"That's something I can't do." Girard furrowed his brow, trying to keep the woman from seeing how eager he was. "What crazy people?"

"There's a cult that runs the place. I don't know a lot about it and I don't want to." She made a motion to stand up, but Girard beat her, standing and spreading out his arms so she was trapped in the booth.

"The only thing you need to do is answer a few questions and you'd save a life."

"More like damn one." She stood and shoved him to get through.

Flames climbed the walls, licking the books lining the shelves before swallowing them whole. The heat made her bare skin blister and her eyes water, but the glowing rune on the floor kept her stuck on her back, her limbs splayed until she resembled a star. The candles were so close to her that they were possibly burning her more than the house fire.

A leathery hand clutched her calf, and she gasped, her back arching in pain as her leg began to burn. Another hand grabbed her opposite thigh, spreading the agony, and pulled itself up out of the abyss until its body was dragging against hers, scalding her blackening skin, and she came face to face with an angel.

They jerked away from each other, Cheryl pressing her back against the wall and holding her hands, looking at the pale skin as though shocked it hadn't been burnt.

Girard fought a wave of dizziness, planting a hand on the table to keep himself propped up. It felt like his flesh had been roasted, but there was nothing on him to mark it.

"They've actually found another girl."

Girard looked up, struggling to keep his eyes open. He felt ready to pass out right then and there. "What?"

"And you know her. They're going to try to birth… whatever it is." Cheryl stood up straight again, which was a little embarrassing seeing as he, an epic-level illusionist, was still reeling so hard he couldn't even think straight. "Alright. Alright. I'll help."

Girard rubbed his head, trying to sort through his jumbled sensations so he could respond properly. An ice bath sounded really good right then.

"Excuse me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, looking up at the woman. "You will?"

"I'm the only one who can at this point." Cheryl glanced around the diner, noticing that some people were beginning to stare, and she sat back in the booth, gesturing for Girard to do the same.

Girard blinked the spots out of his vision, looking across the room, and gave a roguish smile, as though this were normal, and sat across from her. After a moment, the diners went back to their everyday business.

"Who is she?"

Cheryl's voice was now a low hiss, those tired eyes sharpening. Well, at least he had her attention.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just trying to save my friend. He's a guy, by the way."

"No, you know her, even if you don't think so." Cheryl blew on her hand, trying to relieve the pain from her phantom burn. "She probably has lots of nightmares? Mysterious past?"

The image of slate gray eyes flashed in his mind.

"…What do you mean, 'they found a new girl'?"

"Do you know her or not?"

He frowned but tried to keep any other sign of his thoughts from registering on his face. "I might."

Cheryl nodded, her eyes narrowing, and she leaned back. "If you let me see her, then I'll help you with finding your friend."

A tiny part of him, a part he had silenced the night he had started invading her dreams, tried to speak out. He crushed it fast.

"Are you going to hurt her?"

Cheryl tilted her head, propping it up on her fist. "I'd say no, but you can't really trust my answer either way, can you?"

He leaned back, frowning. No, he couldn't.

Girard made his decision quickly, refusing to listen to that little voice in the back of his head.

"Fine."

He pulled a napkin from the dispenser against the wall, taking out a pen from his pocket and writing down the series of numbers he had memorized a couple weeks after he and Soon had washed up in this world. "Call me."

Cheryl reached forward, balling up the napkin in one hand and shoving it in a pocket, and stood up. "Thanks for lunch. I'll be in touch."

Girard's eyes followed her as she left and he made a quick signal to the waitress for the check. Luckily, while foreign in so many ways, this world was a lot like his own: humans behaved the same way.

He closed his eyes, working through the dark magic burning his flesh from the inside. It was festering, getting deeper and deeper into him until it was at his heart, tearing away at the secrets and lies he kept and told, burning it all to the ground.

The check came. He paid in cash. With any luck, his conspicuous lack of a credit card wasn't that unusual here.

He stood up from the table and walked out the door, ignoring the stares as he went.

When he came outside, a ringing noise came from his pocket.

Girard jumped a little in surprise, but took out the ringing plastic regardless. It had taken a bit, but he had worked out how to use this world's method of communication. He missed using magic, though. That was a lot less expensive.

"Hello?"

Static rumbled uncomfortably against his ear, and once again, he cursed this world's lack of magic. "Hello, Mr. …er, Draketooth?"

He arched an eyebrow, looking up at the sky, so much like the one back home. "Who is this?"

"This is the Teasdale School."

Girard frowned.

"There has been an incident with Tai Kim. We need someone to pick him up."

Girard rolled his eyes to the sky, glaring, as if the unseen gods of this world would roll over and take these obstacles out of his way. "Why are you calling me? I'm not his father."

"This number is the only number we have besides the house phone, and no one picked up there."

Of course. Soon hadn't gotten one of these things.

Girard stifled a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What'd he do?"

"He got into a fight. Please come pick up your son."

"He's not my… oh, never mind." He let his hand drop. "Fine. I'll come and pick him up."

"Young, stay close to me."

Her lower lip was wobbling. Papa's hand ran through her hair, but the tremble there gave away his fear.

"Are Mommy and Tai okay?"

"Your mommy is a very brave, strong woman. You know that. They'll be fine." He looked down at her, managing a smile, and tapped her nose affectionately. "We need to do this alone, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because you're my little girl."

She frowned in confusion, but at this point, she was used to the cryptic answers her parents gave when she asked after their murmured conversations in the dark recesses of their home.

Papa looked around at the docks, ears twitching nervously, and nudged her towards the building. "Get inside before anymore monsters come out."

Young scampered forward, looking up at the door, the words 'Silent Hill Historical Society' painted on the glass.

"Hurry."

She pushed the door open, kicking up a thick cloud of dust and scurrying in. Her Papa was close behind her, closing the entrance quickly to the eerily cheerful sound of rusted bells ringing.

The dust settled.

For a moment, there was true silence.

"Why didn't you and Mommy want me and Tai to come here before?"

The countertop next to the door had a little bell on top, and she was briefly tempted to ring it, though experience taught her to never make unnecessary noise. Various pictures hung on the walls, a few photographs of smiling tourists as they boarded a cruise that would never come back to land, a man tending to his sick wife moments before smothering her with a pillow, a woman cradling her son as she plotted to kill him, a boy and his brother on a boat right before the elder accidentally pushed the other over the edge, two blond children playing on the street as the shadow of their murderer began to loom above them…

"You remember how your Mommy and I told you both that this town is a powerful place?"

She nodded. Their home was alive, her Mommy had said. It was a place to be feared and respected. If she conducted herself how she had to, then she would survive.

"Everything that has power has weak points and strong points. The weak points here are our home, the Baldwin House, and the shopping mall, the motel, and the observation deck. Not necessarily safe, but a lot safer than anywhere else. This place has a lot more strong points than weak points." Papa gestured at the ground, gripping the child's shoulder as he led her through the front room. "The Historical Society is one of the strong ones."

The next room made her head hurt. It was dilapidated and the wood was water damaged, but above one of the four doors leading out of the room, there was a giant painted circle with one inner circle, and inside the inner circle, there were three other circles, and runes covered most of the blank spaces. Water dripped down from the ceiling, moss beginning to grow on the walls, but it felt like the rune was trying to wriggle off the wall to eat her alive. It felt like it was burning her…

"Sweetie, don't look at it closely."

Her papa's hand slid over her eyes, breaking whatever connection she had with the circles.

"It's a bad sign, especially for little girls."

His hand still between her and the circles, he led her through another door.

Green fingers fell away from her eyes. "I need you to tell me what you see, Sweetheart. Be as honest as you can be."

Young nodded, looking around the surprisingly undamaged room. Four pictures on the walls, one for each. One was of a giant man with a triangular helmet with a blood-spattered apron sewn of human flesh, a giant knife twice her size dragging along on the dirt, dozens of broken bodies lying behind him, their legs splayed. Under the painting, the words The Punisher were emblazoned. The second was of another giant man, but only half his face and his shoulder were obscured by metal plating while the other half was featureless save for a hole where his ear should have been, and a giant meat cleaver lay in his hand, a blood-spattered butcher's apron covering his body, brutalized murder victims strewn in the background. Under his picture was written The Executioner.

The third was of the biggest monster of them all, with such a heavy black hood on his head that she wasn't even sure she would find a human face under it. His right arm was morphed into a freakishly long, thick blade, spattered with brown and red stains but sharp as the day it was made. His only clothing was a apron at his hip, stitched together white, black, and green skins, and all exposed flesh—back, shoulders, chest, arms—rippled with muscles just under the surface, streaked with sweat and sticky with blood that wasn't his. The navy blue ribbon tied around his bicep made Young's head hurt a little, like she should know something but couldn't think of it. He stood on top of a gallows with obscured men, women, and children of indeterminate race or species hanging from the nooses, and on the ground, fields and fields of massacred people, both innocent and guilty, richly deserving and not, lay in heaps. Underneath, the title The Crusader lay.

The fourth picture was of a woman, black hair covering her face, tied to a stake as she was burnt by angry villagers all around her. Flame Purifies All.

She opened her mouth to speak, then pain burst behind her right eye.

The room felt hot. Water started dripping from the ceiling, but it only took her a moment to realize that water wasn't thick and red.

The liquid formed droopy, scrawly letters, spelling out so many names that the print was no bigger than the width of her pinky finger and yet the walls were still covered. Angela Orosco. Cybil Bennett. Amy Baldwin. Joseph Bartlett. Theodore Fitch. Mary Shepherd-Sunderland. There wasn't any rhyme or reason to the order of the names—not alphabetical, and definitely not chronological—but she wasn't concerned by that.

"Young!"

She collapsed to the ground, holding her head and groaning. "Papa… it hurts so much…!"

He knelt by her, wrapping his arms around her tiny body, and rocked her back and forth, doing his best to conceal his trembles. He was muttering in Goblin, a language he only used when he was really scared, but the words were basic enough for her to understand.

"No… please no, not her, anything but that…"

Only just noticing his murmurs, he bit his tongue, running a hand through her hair. It felt like she was seeing double, or else she was seeing what he saw as well as what she did. Like some kind of phantom under the names, she had the vaguest sense of the words 'Do you think they'll ever be yours?' written.

"Sweetheart, you know that I'd never do anything to hurt you, right?"

She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heart beating wildly, and struggled against the fog in her mind. "Yes, Papa."

"So then if I hurt you, you know that it's for your own good?"

She nodded, running her eyes along the names despite herself. Harry Mason. Claudia Wolf. Walter Sullivan. Michael Kaufmann. Lisa Garland.

"I'm going to do something to you, Young. It's going to hurt, but after I'm done, a lot of the pain will go away. Then your mommy will finish it for me and it'll be gone, like nothing happened, and you'll be safer. Do you understand?"

She looked up blearily, frowning in confusion and struggling past the growing migraine. "Why me, Papa?"

"You're a very special girl, Sweetie. Some people want to use it to their advantage." He kissed her head, the pain receding where his lips touched. "Girls in particular are very important to these people, so Tai's not in danger, but he's also special in his own way. Your mommy and I are only making sure you're as safe as possible."

He sat on the ground, picking her up and nestling her in his lap. "Are you ready?"

She nodded, getting comfortable against him.

He took a deep breath, resting her head against his shoulder, and drove a claw into her forehead.