-47-

Doomsday draws near. The powerless shall fall, the weak shall perish, and the unworthy shall be eradicated. The Lord of Death stands before the genocide, yet mere mortals are incapable of stopping the carnage he was going to cause. For all the world knew, they were not incapable. Rather, it was impossible.

For once there was an indication that a sense of urgency gripped the hearts of Prontera's civilians. Constructors at the west gates sacrificed their time to complete the repairs, piling brick after brick, and nailing at objects to strengthen the gates. When the orcs strike by dawn, the time taken for them to encroach the city would at least permit some time for the defenders to counter in full force.

Sleep failed to creep up over most in the city. The Prontera ministers held long rounds of discussions, but in the end they ended up disputing each other's suggestions and advice. Knights and the recently recruited swordsmen geared themselves up both mentally and physically as they bid what might be their very last farewell. Some tried to pass the night by warming up themselves, working out their physics. Either that, or they sought out others in the barrack to spar with.

Due to the previous assault, Prontera experienced a serious shortage of hunters. So far only a handful of hunters, including new recruits, were all they had. Strategists were forced to abandon tactics that involved ranged combat, and that was one factor which led them into a dilemma. If the current numbers were arrayed against the orcs and the superiors combined, only a miracle could grant them freedom from hostility. Since there was little they could hope to achieve right now, they relied on the two warlords, or whatever they were constructing, would somehow make up for their faults. Notwithstanding, they racked their brains for there was barely four hours to dawn, and they just could not bring themselves to give the two warlords the benefit of a doubt.

The supervisors need not oversee their constructors closely as they did for the past week. The fact that they might die at the hands of the orcs or the four overwhelmed the orders issued to complete the repairs by dawn. They worked furiously through the night even though it meant no sleep. Plus, they had to build more sturdy structures to support the west gate which was made vulnerable.

Since noon, scouts were sent far out the four exits of the city to supply the city's defenders with more knowledge on the impending invasion. Each direction was assigned with three scouts; one for relaying of information back to the city, while the other two kept watch on the situation. The scouts at the east brought no news of immediate danger. It was not surprising, for both Payon and Alberta, the two cities that lie somewhere east of Prontera, could have took care of any appearance of hostility.

Those at the north brought forth similar news. If the orcs went by the north, the St Caprina monks would pose as a hindrance. Moreover, the lord of the settlement, Lord Stratza, had agreed to lend a hundred of his warriors to aid Prontera's cause. King Tristan the Third had appreciated Lord Stratza's intension of reinforcing Prontera's army, yet it was still insufficient to fight back the orcs. Knowing full well that St Caprina would too experience a shortage of warriors if more requests were made, King Tristan the Third depended on Prontera's own instead although it did not look promising.

The knights of the cavalry department were now arranged to fight on foot since many steeds were killed. At first some knights suggested that they head out to the Sograt Desert immediately to capture more Pecopecos, but the department chief had dismissed it, saying that stray Pecopecos required more than half a week to tame and train them. So, the factor of time had repudiated the idea.

The blacksmiths worked doubly hard. While the constructors desperately repaired the west gate, they forged and produced as many new shields and weapons possible. Although long hours in front of the warm work pit caused them immense exhaustion and heavy sweating, they wasted no time. Longer and larger lances were made for those erstwhile riders, while new shields were to replace those which were beyond their means to repair. Merchants in the city supplied the catalysts without a price, some heading out of the city to restock their supply of ingredients that were high in demand.

There was hardly any time to rest until peace was fully restored. The night was tempestuous. Any attempts by the defenders to rid their misgivings had failed miserably. The weather had already dampened their mood and hopes, and not a single person, including Cerberus, had thought of logical means to defeat the four. That meant they could only fight to their death.

'This is no solution. There is nothing I can do…' Cerberus thought bitterly.

The knight sought shelter in the Prontera church. He was soaked to the skin during the run to the church, and he felt uncomfortable. He then stripped off his armour and the tights underneath, leaving it to dry. Several acolytes marvelled at his tanned, well-toned torso, not to mention his rather huge arms. Followers of the church concocted rejuvenating mixtures and prepared a variety of herbs for the injured in the upcoming battle. The priests held a brief session of prayers to God in the main hall, before revising their plans in which the support required to back the main force up.

Although not a firm believer in God himself, Cerberus still participated in the praying session. An acolyte saw the half-naked knight, and presented him a fresh set of garments to put on. Cerberus stood up from one of those benches at the front when it concluded. Turning around, he saw a stout figure sitting in the corner of the back row by himself. That man had too, joined the prayers as far as the knight could tell. Cerberus then approached him.

"I thought you were drinking your hearts out at the inn," Cerberus started.

The man, an alchemist judging by the beige attire he wore and the potion belt around his waist, heaved a sigh and raised his head. His cheeks had a red tinge from the alcohol.

"Nah, I thought I should be doing something productive rather than drinking," Piffy replied.

Cerberus took a seat beside his alchemist friend.

"It's the first time seeing you pray, Pif. You rarely visit a church."

"You see, even I have to come here to pray. I pray for many reasons. I do it for my friends and relatives, I do it for the lot of us hoodlums, I do it for Prontera and hell, I do it to rid of the four!"

"Much will be lost… too much," Cerberus said absent-mindedly. The knight sighed, and looked at Piffy.

"Hey."

"What?"

"Remember the brawl at the inn?"

Piffy grinned, then gave a brief laugh.

"Of course. Alas, some entertainment before the war, and a good way to smash a guitar."

Cerberus did not look at all amused though. Rather, he remained dull.

"If Prontera was to be like the bard, we should all be glad that we knocked out the foe. Likewise, when we defeat the four, we rejoice."

"Aye."

"However, there will always be an effect to the cause. Like the brawl, the bard lost his guitar. At the very least, he could get another to replace it. While for us, nothing can replace those who sacrificed themselves," Cerberus said despondently.

Piffy patted the knight on the shoulder reassuringly and watched the priests prepare themselves. The battle had gotten the people of Prontera so uptight that practically no one was idling. There was still much to be done before dawn.

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"Come on, come on, make this snappy!"

Larzen hastened his "boys". The Fiendbanes had no time to rest back in the barracks and their rest was interrupted by an exasperated Smith. The band of warriors barely slept for half an hour, before the warlord directed them back to the workshop to finish where they left off. Dragging their bodies up from their bedrolls reluctantly, they immersed themselves in cold water before trudging to the west.

Leaving Smith to attend to the organization of the Prontera troops and map-marking, the tall warlord left to oversee the project. A smile spread across his face when he found none of the band idling. They worked efficiently; a few stood at a corner to inspect the works, sharing their views how as to carry out further improvements. Another handful stood around a small table with blueprints and maps laid out as they assigned themselves to aspects of their speciality. Others were either atop ladders hammering nails, or arranging thick pipes all the way up the walls of the west gate.

"Get the launchers through those holes in the wall before the constructors mend it up!" Larzen hurried again.

Those holding discussions, hearing the warlord's orders, went off to speed up the process of the arrangement. The constructors were already waiting below to seal up the holes in the wall after the launchers, as the warlord called it, were inserted. Realizing that the constructors had worked through the night and had to remain behind instead of going home, Larzen bid them to rest while his band secured the thick launchers. The warlord even handed them some sustenance to invigorate themselves. That was also done partly to quiet down their complains.

A brief cheer caused Larzen to look up. The group had completed the last launcher, while they let out a breath in relieve.

"Yo," Larzen called to the constructors. "Apologies, but one last job for the night!"

After suffering a few harsh curses from the constructors who had overworked themselves, Larzen headed back to the basement of the workshop.

"The men outside will take care of it."

The band nodded. Most were lying down in various poses of slumber, while some massaged each other's tired shoulders. One unfortunate was forced by the rest to pack up the tools, while they ate or slept. When he was done, he reported to the warlord.

"Sir, now we just have to get some big supplies from the alchemists and dealers."

"I'll go," Larzen said when he noticed the dread look on the soldier. "But right now, get those asses up! We get back to Smith now, freshen ourselves and see what's in store for us."

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It had been many days, but caution was still considered. The fiends within a dank pit scurried back into their holes or any other places to keep themselves out of sight when something amiss was sensed. The torches flared brightly for a brief moment, then dimmed as if to accommodate a grand entrance. The fiends watched in anxiety, expecting the four to return again as arranged.

However, only a lone knight appeared. But that did little to comfort them though. The black knight knelt on one knee in obvious unease, murmuring something incomprehensible to himself. Then, he inspected his body for injuries. Finding none of significance, he planted his black sword deep in the ground. The ebony knight peered around corners and scanned the area, as if expecting a visitor.

Those red orbs through the slits of his helm gleamed momentarily when he found himself alone in the pit. The metal sheathe made a soft clanking noise as it slapped against his armoured thigh.

"Lord of Death… Doppelganger… nobody remembered it," he mumbled in a deep voice. Since his arrival, a look of bewilderment was set firm in his face. He looked at his own hands, then started pummelling the wet ground as he yelled his frustrations. Yanking his sword free, he slashed at random and at anything he could find. A drainliar nearby was unfortunately sliced into half.

"I have failed… miserably."

The link between him and Storm had vanished suddenly. Abyss knew that his comrade had been killed by the merciless pair, Baphomet and Dark Lord. When he dragged Storm into the portal, only he was admitted successfully. But for Storm, the portal rejected him for some reason. As the portal suction became stronger, he was pulled and dragged into the depths of the teleportation portal. If he did not release his hold on Storm, the portal would have ejected him out of it. Worse still, the two of them would be killed.

"It is not my nature to fail! No! I tolerate none of this! I shall lead my own army to Prontera, and into victory! No more failures! No more!" he yelled with all his might.

The fiends continued watching in fear as the deranged monster screamed. Abyss took deep breaths to calm himself as he sat down. The flaring red orbs became faint, and he stopped quivering. The knight focused his thoughts, trying to paint a clearer image of the nearest dungeon from his current location. Then, as if he had already found one, he let out a long breath.

"Yes… The clock tower…" Abyss muttered. "The clock tower it shall be."

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The landscape became hilly with wide rivers running in between. The search seemed to have been called off; the four companions heard no crude voices or orcish talks, and there was no discovery of any multitudes of orcish tracks. A wizard dressed in tattered black robes among the four guessed that the orcs could not have let them off so easily, considering that they were rather persistent creatures.

"From the surface we might have outsmart them," Sagi had said. "There had to be a reason they stopped the hunt."

The unthinkable became possible. Sagi did not bare his thoughts to his other companions, for fear that the priestess's paranoia would return undoubtedly. Skull had told them about the death of the orcs' two leaders, Orc Hero and Orc Lord. Now, the Lord of Death had usurped control over the green-skinned beasts. That had explained the fact that the orcs became ruthless and hostile of late. If the silver knight had called the search parties back, it was not unlikely that Lord of Death was preparing them in full to invade Prontera. Assuming that his predictions were true, then they had no reason not to remind the other cities of a cataclysm which was going to occur if Prontera was defeated. Geffen was already a good example of their sadistic works, and they would not do something any different to the capital city of Rune-Midgard.

The four companions soon found themselves trapped at a rocky ledge that provided them with a panorama over a dale and several tributaries. Maraulea's face lit up as she announced that beyond the large river lay the city of deception and thievery, Morroc. Although that did not have any effect on the others, for the exception of the wizard, the rogue continued making plans about a shopping spree back in her hometown. She expected Skull to be enthusiastic about returning to Morroc, but the assassin kept quiet. The place only reminded him of his painful childhood and nothing more.

Sagi knew very well that no matter how invulnerable Prontera was, the city's forces would hardly stand any chance against the four superiors combined. In spite of their grand church which was known to aid the elimination of evil and corruption through enigmatic means, the orcs would somehow allow enough time for Lord of Death to crush the church into a pile of useless rubble. He could not risk the assumption that the capital city had found themselves reliable alliances. Even if they did, what harm could there be if he was able to persuade Morroc to participate in the battle?

"Yes, Morroc be it. Have you a warp portal, priestess?" he asked when he was done contemplating.

Skull shifted uncomfortably.

"No, anywhere but Morroc."

Sagi raised a brow as he limped towards the assassin. The mild illumination from the staff allowed vision of his cold look.

"Have you better ideas?" he said, but more of a jibe considering the assassin to be irascible.

"Yes I could open one," Manald quickly cut in to prevent further arguments. She began to fumble for a blue gemstone to enable the operation. "This is weird, I remembered I had one here…"

Maraulea frowned as she had seen the whole thing.

"Oh pass it back, will you? That was childish! We have no time to waste, Immuonnas."

Sure enough, a blue gemstone was in Skull's possession. The rogue gave a swipe for it, but obviously the assassin was faster.

"Anywhere, but Morroc," he repeated. "Since you're not going there for a motive other than some trivial matters."

"You're wrong, Skull," Sagi took a step forward. "If it's trivial, think about it. We mean business, and that's not a stop in a Rune-Midgard tour, assassin. Every city under the world of Rune-Midgard should have come together and deal with the common foe. Morroc is not exception."

"What are you talking about? What does Morroc has to do with our destination?" Manald asked slowly. A nonplussed look crossed her face.

The wizard realized that he had blurted it out. Since Manald would know of this sooner or later, she should be told of this so as to prepare herself mentally.

"Priestess, listen," Sagi began, choosing his words carefully to make his speech less intense. "I'm suspecting that the four knights are using the orcs as a meat shield. When the orcs strike Prontera, the four will waste no time to destroy the church."

"What… the orcs… the church?"

"Yes, they won't be delaying much longer. Now that the search ended, it is time for them to march to Prontera," Sagi said, giving Skull a severe look to indicate the urgency. "And we need Morroc to add to the defending force."

"Makes some sense. Its gonna take about half a day to march from these lands to Prontera," Maraulea estimated.

"If its because of your childish reasons, just leave us. You may do whatever you deem fit," Sagi added.

Skull's eyes gleamed dangerously.

"You forget that I'm wanted, wizard! Yes, Morroc may be crowded with seas of shady creatures but that doesn't mean high officials won't be patrolling there. Is that childish a reason enough?"

Sagi began to grow impatient. Eyeing the assassin, he spoke again.

"Or is that an excuse?"

Maraulea crept beside the priestess and began whispering into her ears.

"And because he doesn't wanna be reminded of his sister. Talk to him. He might listen to you, Man."

"But –"

"Just do it."

Manald frowned, but to accomplish their goal she had to try. It was clear that Skull was going to treat her like a thorn in the flesh again. Still, he needed a talking to. Maybe now, she should not try the gentle approach anymore. But who knows, that might cause him to hurl the only stone over the ledge instead.

"We understand your worries," she said, choosing not to mention about his sister. "Do it like how you did in St Caprina. Despite your wanted status the residents hailed you as their saviour. Moreover this is your hometown; nobody will show prejudice against you."

The priestess motioned for the wizard to step back. Stepping closer to the assassin, she reached for the cowl and pulled it over his head. At first he flinched and wanted to shove her hands off, but her comforting smile somehow stopped him. Manald stretched her hands out, pleading him for the gemstone.

"We'll be at your side," she reassured further, then turned her head around to look at the wizard and the rogue behind her. It seemed like Maraulea was the only one listening, for Sagi had his back turned against them as he glanced far out to the distant deserts from the ledge.

"Yeah! You and I will get our good old rogues and sins to join Prontera. Maybe that fat king will forget about all these for your efforts!" Maraulea suggested excitedly.

There was a brief silence when Skull hesitated. When it seemed like he refused to budge, the winds carried over Sagi's words to him.

"You joined the Avenger for a reason. And once again… this is business. Not homecoming. This could only show me how poorly you can handle your inner turmoil."

Skull removed his cowl. Tossing the gemstone onto the ground, he strode off into the night. The priestess started after him, even calling him back. But the assassin continued walking, hardly stopping to listen to her. Finally giving up, she retrieved the blue gemstone, and a cone of cobalt light flashed. The three stepped into the portal without the assassin, as a vortex tossed them into the desert city, Morroc.