Footsteps echoed down the dim and dusty hallway, breaking the silence as they bounded and rebounded against the smothering closeness of the darkened corridor. Shadows lurched into life and began an animated dance, exaggerated shapes throwing stark mockeries of their origins onto the walls as the flare of a torch rounded the bend. Dust stirred gently in the wake of the tall intruder holding the flame aloft, creating gentle eddies upon the weathered stone that had lied so long undisturbed... Undisturbed until now.
The stranger paused for a moment, examining an ancient glyph upon the wall before continuing further into the enveloping gloom. He knew that the Horutoto Ruins were no crossroads, but concerns more pressing than simple travel drew him here. He moved on. Tricks and traps awaited the unwary; dallying overlong in one place simply would not do. Besides, a restless stirring in the blood, a whisper just beyond the cusp of hearing urged him on with gentle prodding. There would be no rest until this was resolved.
But how would it be resolved? He was not sure, but neither had he come unprepared. Lowering the hood of his traveling cloak, Verence reached back to finger the reassuring bulk of his great sword's hilt. All the preparation he needed lie in a simple length of mithril silver... It was almost too simple, but he wouldn't have had it any other way. The Elvaan had come seeking the twin doppelgangers Gog and Dio, rumored to dwell in these passages. Verence doubted they'd be much for conversation, but neither was he.
Even if they could speak, they'd likely divulge little. It wasn't for a pleasant chat over high tea he'd come for anyway, only the thinnest of hopes that perhaps the evil spirits held some sort of answer to his own condition. If their form truly altered as they saw fit... Even if this did turn out to be a dead end, at least the encounter would result in two less malicious presences beneath the plains of Sarutabaruta. Futile or not however, a dead end was precisely what Verence found himself faced with as the corridor ended abruptly in a sheer stone face.
That can't be right. Such pains would not be taken to construct a corridor, only to have it end in such a manner. Yet it seems familiar somehow, as if I've seen it somewhere before. Ah, yes...
Verence smiled sardonically and drew a deep breath before stepping into— and through, the stone wall. Illusion magic, a favorite trick of whoever constructed these ruins. He'd encountered similar in that expedition so long ago to the Toraimarai canal with Ayvaen, Shiromiro, Marcicus, and Diamondelle.
Diamondelle...
The thought was dispelled with an angry toss of his head as the Elvaan continued into a circular chamber. The floor recessed in the center, which housed some sort of curious device that hummed softly in the blanketing silence. Verence stepped closer to examine it, but paused. For a moment, it seemed almost as if another set of footfalls had accompanied his own, carefully muted and matched to his. He reached for the hilt of his great sword cautiously, placing the torch in a nearby wall bracket. Preparation, simple preparation...
Almost as if in answer to the thought, excited whispers sprang up to fill the silence. Layer upon layer of soft babble cascaded over each other, a gentle roar overwhelming the quiet hum of the strange contraption. The Elvaan looked about uncertainly as a child's laughter arose, the clear tone of a bell tolling through a susurrus of murmurs. The simple giggle of delight changed in tone abruptly, becoming a chilling, incisive laughter.
The shadows that ducked and bobbed crazily in the torchlight seem to take on even greater life, skittering madly across the floor, twisting upon themselves and writhing, exulting in their newfound liberty. The laughter faded as the shadows coalesced, forming a single figure armored in rusted mail. Eyes like banked coals regarded Verence solemnly as the figure produced a cruelly gleaming spear from seeming nothingness.
"Spirit," spoke the Elvaan. "I've come for answers." The doppelganger made no answer, its mute, featureless face revealing nothing. "Speak, spirit," continued Verence. "Speak or my blade shall whistle a tune to fill the silence!" With a protesting rasp of metal, the great sword was drawn from its sheath, throwing bright reflections into the far corners of the chamber. The doppelganger only readied its spear, lowering into a stance of guarded readiness.
Why does it not move to attack? Surely it is not afraid, it likely knows no fear. It only stands as if waiting for something. Waiting, or... Watching.
On sudden impulse, Verence ducked just moments before a jagged scythe rent the air where his neck would have been. Wisps of hair floated gently past his face, caressing his cheeks on their passage groundwards. A moment later and it would have been blood quenching the ancient flagstone. Seeing its chance, the spear-wielding wraith lunged forward.
Holder of the Cruel Spear, that one must be Gog. Then the one behind me is Dio. Best mind my footwork, the blades of either are said to sap the strength from one's bones.
Verence rose, twisting to slip his blade between the legs of the onrushing Gog. Swinging a wide crescent of silvered metal, he brought the great sword around to bear on the hooded shade behind him. The harsh clatter of steel announced Gog's fall as it toppled to the ground, leg severed below the knee.
"You, then. Perhaps you are more talkative than your brother. Or have you the means of speech? Prove more cooperative than him and you will not share his fate!" Embers stared silently back from beneath a tattered hood. "Fruitless," continued Verence. "Know only that your fate is of your own design!" Though he was beginning to slip, Verence cared little. These were only devilish spirits, full worthy of whatever madness he unleashed upon them. He took a step forward, readying his sword for a downward blow when suddenly a cold bite like ice tore into his side.
What?! Impossible! How could Gog have readied a blow so quickly when I lay him flat upon his back? There must be more to these spirits... Plenty of time to discover precisely what when I have torn them to shreds!
Bellowing in pain and rage, Verence wheeled on Gog, bringing the massive blade down to sever its unguarded hand. Lopped cleanly at the wrist, the black gauntleted hand fell to the ground with a dull thud. Shadows flowed like smoke from Gog's wrist, solidifying to form a new hand before Verence's incredulous eyes. It was then he realized.
Caught between the two of them like some rabbit in a cruel predator's game. They are toying with me... And soon they will discover I am no easy quarry.
Taking an abrupt step backwards, the dark knight brought his elbow up sharply to smash into Dio's face, in the same moment preparing his blade for a forward rush. Charging at Gog, Verence knocked it to the floor with the flat of his blade, quickly turning his momentum into a downward thrust. Gog went rigid with shock, impaled upon the cold stone by gleaming mithril. A scythe blade glanced off the Elvaan's shoulder, turned by the mail but only barely. Scales torn from armor tinkled to the floor. Feeling a trickle of blood begin to run down his arm from the wound, Verence spun and stretched a hand towards Dio while muttering an incantation in a forgotten tongue. The spirit staggered, caught off-guard by the potent viral incantation.
Verence quickly backed into the chamber, at last out from between the two of them. He raged inwardly, for both allowing himself to be caged in such a manner and for the wounds they had inflicted. Already, both had gone numb and sent a spreading coldness into his body. He shuddered violently, realizing his control had all but gone. A second light flared into the darkness, an ethereal seal floating in the air inches from Verence's forehead. The Holy Crest, now tainted, throbbed a dull red. He bared his fangs at them, infuriated that they had injured him, insulted him, torn his beautiful scales. They would pay, oh yes... One thousand deaths was one thousand too few. They would crawl, beg for mercy before being granted sweet release...
Fangs? Scales? I have none, only my own teeth and mail. What is this...?
Gog rose from the floor slowly, deliberately, gaping wound sealing as its mail re-knit itself. Dio took a step forward, shrugging off the effects of the spell. As if dancing to a ghastly choreography, the two readied their weapons in unison and began to advance. It was then that a new coldness swept over the dark knight, welling up from somewhere deep within. Spurred by fury and the advancing frost, Verence stretched a talon towards them warningly, screaming "Why will you not DIE?!"
Talon? No... I've no talons, only a sword. Separate from myself, yet taken up willingly to accomplish its goal. But this coldness... Yes. A weapon. That is what I have been granted. A blade truer than any coarse edge, one that cuts to the quick of the soul... One I wield of my own will and lay down as I will.
Verence chuckled. The spirits paused, confused. "Yes! I see it now! A tool to be held in the hand, wielded as seen fit, then set aside. Though it drive me, it will never gain my will. It is I who determine the course of an arcing blade, not mute steel!" The dull red glimmer of the tainted Crest faded, replaced by a welcoming smile.
"Come, friends! Sweet oblivion awaits!"
An unearthly scream shattered the peace of the Horutoto Ruins, soon followed by another, shrill and tormented. Through a wall of illusory stone a lone figure hobbled; bleeding and dragging a massive sword in its wake. He'd come for answers, and answers he'd found... But not the ones he'd been looking for.