"Are you taking me to Logan?"

It was the first words she'd uttered in such a long time, Lautrec was startled when she spoke them. The queer and flat way the words played off the prison tower's dark, rounded, walls along with the hoarse sound of Abby's voice didn't help. He looked upon the girl held in his arms, as light as a sack of grain, and nodded. "Yes."

Abby stared at him, the pretty exuberance once held in her blue eyes long gone since Lautrec had last seen her, the cheeks below them gaunt and emaciated. "Okay," she whispered. "If you think it's for the best, my knight."

Logan did not lie, Lautrec thought, lifting his head to avoid the girl's strange, probing, stare. Her mind is failing her.

"We'll have to leave when we're done here," Abby went on. "Quickly. There are terrible things coming. They all call me mad now, but, well, I don't feel mad. Do you think I'm mad, Lautrec?"

"No," he lied. "Just be quiet for a while, Abby."

A cold wind swept up from the base of the tower, sending the blue torches ensconced along its outer rim into a wild dance, casting their blue glow in flickering patterns across the walls. The golems' thunderous footsteps could be heard even from the top of the spiraling staircase that led to them, and as Lautrec walked it, the thumping seemed to synchronize with the pounding of his own heart. He ran his fingers along the smooth silk of Abby's gown and steadied his breath. Calm yourself, he thought. You'll need your wits more than ever in the coming moments.

As they neared the bottom, passing rows of barred cells that stunk of old wood and lost time, Abby began fidgeting in his arms. "Stop that," he told her calmly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm afraid."

He looked upon her again. The girl had taken handfuls of her gown near her chest and balled fists around them. Her eyes had grown wide and her breathing sporadic. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he told her. Then why are you afraid? An inner voice questioned.

"Where will we go after this?" Abby asked, resting her head against his chest.

"I don't know."

"But you'll protect me..."

Lautrec sighed. "I... suppose."

Abby was quiet for a moment, then her hands reached out and cupped his face. "I can be your wife."

He craned his neck back to free himself from her hold, frowning. "Abby just... just be quiet for now, alright?"

"I still have my maidenhood," she went on anyway. "Chester wanted it, but... he was a demon just like the rest of them. You can have me, though, Lautrec. I can give you children. You can take me to Carim and I'll give you children and I'll never bother you and I'll cook your meals and-"

"Please," he snapped, shaking her in his arms a bit harder than he'd intended to.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I'll do as you say like a good wife should. If you want me to be quiet, I'll never speak again. I'll obey you and love you and raise your children and I swear I won't bother you, just... just please don't let them take me. Please, Lautrec. I thought I was brave enough... to maybe... go to them. But I'm not brave like you, my knight. I'm not. And now they're threatening to come. Don't let them take me."

"Let who take you?"

"All of them," she whispered, swiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "The demons and the hollows and the knights and the fat one. Yes. And the tall one. And the one who isn't sure if he's a she or if she's a he. I don't want to go with them. Please don't let them take me."

She is truly lost, he thought, holding her eyes as they grew rheumy above the dark circles beneath. I will give her the peace of death, Logan had told him. Lautrec hadn't truly understood the phrase until just then, staring into the eyes of a shattered mind. "No one's taking you anywhere, alright? Can you please be quiet now?"

She was trembling in his arms, but she pressed her lips together and nodded and spoke no more for the rest of the descent.

The golems were the first thing to greet them upon arrival. The hulking blue monstrosities lumbered forth from the massive tower of machinery in the room's center, crowding around Lautrec as Abby pressed her face into his chest to hide herself. He looked from one to the next, the blank and featureless heads atop their tree trunk necks seeming to stare directly into him.

"Bring her here, Lautrec," Logan's deep voice boomed from beside the machine, and Lautrec noted it was the only thing in the tower that seemed to catch off the walls, echoing the words back and forth in a haunting way.

He squeezed Abby a bit tighter to his body and turned sideways to slip between two golems, holding a baleful glare upon them as he went. Logan was waiting beside his mad machine, his long, crimson, robe spilling to the floor and pooling around him, his massive hat brim wobbling as he nodded his head.

"A man who can get things done," he greeted, spreading his arms wide as Lautrec neared. "I chose you for a reason and that reason is more apparent now than ever before. Well done, knight. Well done. Hello, Abby. Dear? Are you crying?"

Abby sniffled and shook her head. "No, Logan."

"Well, good! You shouldn't be! The courageous knight whose arms you rest in and myself have gone to great measures to ensure you safely away from those wretched cultists." Logan stepped forward to look upon Abby. Lautrec saw the man's face looked somehow older than it had not two hours earlier when they'd spoken. The wrinkles had grown more pronounced, the skin sagged just a bit looser, and even the man's hair seemed to wither and gray in the brief time. His bushy eyebrows were peaked sympathetically as he fixed Abby with a smile. "You're in a great deal of suffering now, aren't you Abby?"

"...can't sleep..." she quietly responded.

"Demons in your dreams?"

She nodded.

He returned the gesture. "You want the pain to be over, don't you?"

She nodded.

His smile widened. "Then over it shall be, dear." He lifted his eyes to Lautrec. "Bring her here."

Logan crossed to his machine and Lautrec followed, glancing back to see the nine golems standing sentinel at the base of the staircase. The sorcerer had set a table up at the front of the towering stack of cogs and piping, and as he moved around it, his hand patted its top. "Set her down."

Lautrec moved to the other side of the table and began to lean forward to release Abby, but the her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled herself tight to his chest. "What are you doing, girl?"

Her lips came so close to his ear, he could feel the warmth of her breath. "I don't trust him," she whispered, her voice trembling as violently as her body.

"Let go of me, Abby," he told her, taking hold of her arms and prying them loose.

She released him and allowed herself to be lowered to the table. Lautrec looked down at her, lying there in robes that draped loosely over a frame that had grown unhealthily thin, and a face that had once been pretty and alive and now was stressed with lines of paranoia and fear and illness and he wonder what had happened. Where had it all gone wrong.

There will be blood spilled here, he thought, recalling the distant echo of a long lost voice. He lifted his head to stare at Logan. "Has this ever happened before?"

Logan moved down the length of the table to stand beside Abby's head. He ran his slender fingers through what little hair she had and smiled disarmingly at her. "Has what happened, Lautrec?"

"If the world moves in cycles," Lautrec said. "Have we ever made it this far in a previous 'cycle'? Have you ever had Abby lying here on this table before?"

"The world cycles. The Chosen is never the same," Logan explained. His hand moved from Abby's hair to her cheek, stroking it gently as Abby lip quivered and a tear rolled her cheek to pool at the table beneath her. "So, no. This has never happened before."

"What about with another Chosen? This all feels... very familiar," Lautrec pressed on. His skin suddenly felt very warm, as if taken by a fever, and his breath tasted foreign upon his tongue.

"We have tried more than once," Logan admitted, nodding. His hand moved from Abby's cheek to her eyes, cupping over them to blind her. Abby whimpered and he shushed her. "No, dear. The suffering is almost over now." He waited for her to quiet before continuing in a wistful, quiet, voice. "You would have made a lovely Queen had things gone... better."

There will be blood spilled here. Lautrec looked back to the golems. They hadn't moved. Their hulking bodies swayed a bit as they stood, but they were otherwise as still as stone. They were watching.

Lautrec's attention was pulled back to the table by the schk of a dagger coming unsheathed. He turned and saw Logan had a blade pressed to Abby's throat. "Just... wait," Lautrec said. His head had grown light and his vision dimmed. "Are you sure there is no other way?"

"Other way?" Logan questioned. "Lautrec, we went over this. What else is there to be done, my friend? The girl will have her peace, and the machine will offer salvation." He glanced over his shoulder at the wooden and steel monstrosity behind him. "And should our Creators still be watching over us. If, perhaps, they haven't all abandoned us to the cruel Gods who toy with our lives... then we will show them our ambition to change." He returned his gaze to Abby, her eyes still shielded beneath his hand. He trickled the blade beneath her chin. "We will show them we are willing to live in a world free of Gods and rules and... Chosen. Here! Now! Before the machine! Let the Creators see our desires!"

Abby's hands were trembling so violently, her knuckles were rattling against the table. She opened her mouth and jagged breath came out. "...b-bonfire..."

"Oh, don't worry, Abby," Logan cooed, running the thumb of his hand over her cheek. "I've had that bonfire dismantled. You won't return to suffer. You will close your eyes and you will finally have your rest."

"...rest...?" She croaked.

"And you," Logan went on, raising his eyes to Lautrec. "Have a reward coming, I believe. Yes. In fact, we'll go see our lovely little firekeeper right after this. Would you like that, Lautrec?"

Laughing, Crying, Begging, the charred corpses of a man and wife. "Yes," Lautrec answered, putting aside the thought of Anastacia lest it drive his as mad as Abby.

"Yes," Logan said. "Then that is just what we shall do."

There will be blood spilled here.

Logan took a breath, looking upon Abby with an almost sympathetic expression upon his wrinkled face. "Such a shame." He looked to the top of the tower. "Are you watching you cruel Gods? Here lies your play thing! Can you see the pain you cause her!? The pain you cause all of us! NO MORE!"

His shout bounced up into the very top of the tower, carrying ghostly trails of his words for a long time. Lautrec glanced back at the golems: still there; still watching.

You're not a bad man, Quelana spoke in his head. "I'm not a bad man," he agreed.

"What's that?" Logan questioned, and when Lautrec didn't answer, his smile widened. "Lautrec... don't let this weigh on your conscious. A bad man? Bad? Look at this world we live in. Good and bad... those are words of the simple and weak. Men like you and I... we are shades of grey, just as the rest of the world. When we were boys, we imagined sorcerers and warriors and knights that were 'good' and pure and true and noble and honest... and when we grew up, we looked at the men beneath their helmets and their caps and what did we find? That the armor was a lie. A shiny, pretty, lie, and we all bought into it when in truth? The lie hid the dirty faces of murders and rapists and thieves. That is what our heroes were. Not men of black or white, but men of grey And when everyone is grey, what is there to separate us? Our ambition."

Lautrec's fingers itched madly. He brought his hands together to scratch them.

"Good is a word for the unambitious so that when they look upon men with more than they have, they can lie to themselves and say that they had at least lived 'good' lives." Logan sneered. "How long has this lie hindered our progress? How many lives have been wasted lying in the shackles of 'right and wrong'? There is only ambition, Lautrec, and you and I? We have it. We are men who get things done. Let them paint us as their villains. They only truly wish they had the courage or the bravery or the determination to be just as villainous. They don't, however. And so... the lie goes on."

There will be blood spilled here.

Logan lowered his face to Abby's and kissed her quivering lips. "Good night my Queen." He pressed the dagger to her throat.

"Logan," Lautrec said, halting him. When Logan lifted his head, Lautrec stuck his hand across the table.

Logan eyed it as a smile crept up his face. "You told me you only shake the hands of men you respect. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," he said.

Logan nodded, rising from Abby. "I told you," he said with a soft laugh. "You and I will be great friends in the coming change, knight. Oh yes." The sorcerer reached across the table and took Lautrec's hand in his own. He smiled and-

-Lautrec yanked him forward, reached for his shotel, and drove the curved blade into the side of the man's throat. It hooked into the soft flesh and Lautrec ripped. Logan's throat exploded in a geyser of blood as his mouth dropped open and his eyes bloomed as wide and white as freshly sprung orchids. A choked gurgle escaped his gaping mouth as his hands came up to his throat, as if to cradle the blood spilling from within and stop it from leaving him. He clawed at his cheeks instead, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he slumped forth onto the table then rolled off and landed dead on the floor with a muted thump.

Abby was sitting up on her elbows, staring at Logan's corpse, a look of stunned incredulity on her face.

"Don't look at him. Close your eyes," Lautrec commanded of her, which she did immediately and without question, and he bent and scooped her back into his arms.

He spun to face the golems. They were still standing at the base of the stairs, still and quiet and watching from heads with no eyes. Lautrec held just as still, watching them for attack, listening as his heart thundered in his chest. When they did not come, he swallowed and stepped forward. Logan commanded them, he assured himself. Logan's dead. So are they. He pulled Abby tight to his chest and stepped before the creatures.

"What's happening," Abby whispered, here eyes still clenched tightly shut.

Lautrec ignored her, turning sideways to move between the first two golems, his eyes holding on their burly upper bodies and arms that could reach out and crush both Abby and himself into nothing. He angled the girl in his arms so her legs and feet did not touch the things, ducked beneath a thick arm hanging in his path like a down tree, and sidestepped the two nearest to the stairs.

When his feet fell to the first step, the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding burst from his chest. He stole a quick glance at the things to make sure they weren't giving pursuit. They weren't. He began to run.

"Why are you running?" Abby asked, her voice thick with trepidation. "Can I open my eyes?"

"Yes," he told her. "And I don't know why I'm running." Because this is mad. This whole thing is mad and now your mind is as lost as the girl's. The two of you-

"I can walk," she told him, interrupting his thoughts.

He didn't release her, though he couldn't be sure if it was for her sake or his own.

"You killed him," Abby said when he didn't respond. "You killed Logan."

"Yes."

"...to protect me?"

"I... I'm not sure," Lautrec admitted. "You said you didn't trust him. In the moment, neither did I. I'm a knight. We learn to trust our instincts or we learn to die."

His wind was leaving him, and so Lautrec slowed to a halt, resting against the staircases outer barrier. He looked down up the golems. They hadn't moved. That was a good thing. Abby leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He pulled his head away. "Abby, stop it."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I knew you would protect me, though, I just knew it. I prayed to the Gods to send you back to me and they did." She smiled, and the prettiness of the expression nearly vanquished the gauntness of her cheeks and the dark circles beneath her eyes. "Are we leaving now?"

"No," he told her and began climbing the stairs again at a slower pace. "I can't leave without dealing with Anastacia."

Abby stared up at him. "That's why you won't take me as your wife, isn't it? You love her. I understand."

"She's my sister," he told her, and the words felt so strange coming from his tongue, the voice they belonged to hardly sounded like his own. He frowned down at Abby, wondering why he'd told her that. He'd never told anyone that.

"Sister?" Abby echoed. Her eyes studied his face, as if checking for verisimilitude. A smile crept upon her lips. "Yes, of course. You look so alike." Her look darkened. "You're going to kill her too, aren't you. Like Logan?"

"Yes."

"...is she bad like him?"

"Very bad."

"...then I understand," Abby said after a silence. "I trust you. You're the only one I can now. You saved me. You're my knight... and I would hope, someday, my husband."

thump - thump - thump

Lautrec shared a look of dread with Abby. He moved to the barrier and peered down to the tower's bottom. The golems were moving again, coming up the steps behind the two of them.

And Logan's body was missing.

"That's impossible," Lautrec muttered.

"I don't want to be in here anymore," Abby said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He broke into a run again as the thumping of the golems footsteps trailed behind them. They reached the ladder leading to the Archive's balcony. Abby offered to climb it herself, but Lautrec wasn't ready to release her. He moved her to his shoulder, took the rungs in his hands, and climbed. It was not easy, and twice he had to halt to steady them and catch his breath, but soon enough they reached the top.

Lautrec shifted Abby's weight back down between his arms and was readying to carry her out onto the balcony when the blank, wide-eyed, stare on the girl's face held his feet in place. "Gods, What now?"

"Oh no," Abby whispered. "No, no, no. Please."

"Abby, what!?" He shouted, shaking her.

Her eyes drifted to his. "We're too late... I'm sorry. I tried." She hugged him, her tearful face disappearing over his shoulder. "They felt the danger I was in before... they're very angry. They started coming. I can't stop them anymore."

"...angry? How-"

She sniffled. "I'm so sorry. They're coming."

"Abby, who is-"

Aaawwooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

His words were lost in the shrill blare of a war horn wailing from somewhere higher in the castle.

Aaawwoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Abby tightened her squeeze. "I'm sorry."

Lautrec opened his mouth to ask her what exactly was happening, but the words never needed to be spoken. The men's shouts answered the question for him.

"Man the wall!" A voice screamed deeper in the castle ahead. "Man the wall! The hollows are marching! The hollows are marching! Man the wall!"

"The hollows march from Anor Londo!"