-56-

The man who once called himself Doppie gritted his teeth against the persisting pain in his back, no, his abdomen, again no. He was aching from head to toe. Dark blood was smeared dry over his face, and it only seemed his eyes were the only parts not masked by it.

He knew he would be paralyzed for as long as he stayed pressed under the mounds of broken stones. Ignoring the pain, he grunted heavily as he expended whatever strength remained in his weak body to free the stones above him. That had caused him much effort, for he rolled over to the side of the street, if it even looked like one from the haze and felled buildings.

The faint swordsman wrinkled his nose from the fetor; amidst the mounds of stones were corpse of orcs, most charred beyond recognition, except their stout and muscular form that still proved as their identity. Not to mention, humans too. Dead warriors were just as badly shocked; their blackened state suggested that they might have been human torches. But that was not the case. Only the Lord of Death was capable of laying such an atrocious carnage.

The swordsman still lay unmoving on the smoky curb, with a slit of both eyes left open. His mind was a complete blank, the events as murky as mud. Snippets of the hellish fight between him and the Whiteterror, as named by some in Prontera to call the Lord of Death, did little to stir the rest of his memories. Apparently, the strange chain of white lightning that triggered off haphazardly had too, wrecked him to the depths of being. Being a Superior, perhaps that was why he did not suffer as bad as those killed.

But what on Rune Midgard could summon such immense power, so powerful that it even incapacitated a Superior with a Trait in possession within him?

Another flash appeared in his head. The Lord of Death was raising his lance skyward, and he stood before the Whiteterror, trying to disrupt the channelling of energy. He least expected it, but the disturbance had been deadly. So deadly that the aftershock had sent hundreds of both humans, and orcs alike to their demise.

So did I do this? Where is that bloody dog of a knight? Did he die in that bloody lightning frenzy as well?

He had many questions, yet he could find no logical answers to them. Even if he managed to find out somehow, that did not make much difference. That certainly did not alter the fact that he was part of the dark conquest over Rune Midgard. He guessed he had only redeemed little by turning against the Lord of Death. Redemption… it was all too late now.

Why did I even come by such a fate? Or rather, us. The dead branches… yes, the dead branches… we were brought from our Guardian Spots in the Demon plane back into Rune Midgard, where we once the greatness in the making. Where we made a name for ourselves… but now, soulless and very much dead demons. We could have forgotten about it, and return to where we belonged. But I guess our hunger for the feeling proved insatiable. The feeling of greatness…

Doppelganger slowly climbed back to his feet with the shaky support of the stones, and felt a cold, naked steel against his throat. He was too weak to retaliate, he just had to forfeit grudgingly to the silver knight.

This would be the end of me…

"What are you waiting for, Lord of Death? You may have won this fight with me, but the rest would not let you off. You are very much wanted, knight," Doppelganger croaked.

"That bloody knight is dead, swordsman," a majestic voice, vaguely familiar, sounded behind him. "The pact is broken; the four of you are sought after, dead or alive."

Doppelganger planted two fingers behind the blade, and pushed it away from his throat. Turning around, there was no mistake about it. The two curled horns, the black, beady eyes, the yellow fur, and the massive scythe… Baphomet himself.

"Bah, Baphomet," he sniffed. "What are you waiting for, then? If I am wanted, most likely preferred dead, then bury your rusty, goddamn scythe into my heart quickly."

The great goat demon sneered, but Doppelganger could hardly see it in that mane. Baphomet stood about a head and a half taller than the swordsman, and that had made Doppelganger look more vulnerable than he already was.

"I'd be watching my tongue in front of the exalted one, if I were you, swordsman. But you will not end up like your accomplices just yet, swordsman. Not yet."

"I don't understand…"

"In time to come, you will. The Agility Trait is in a sense, your birthright. None could browbeat you, or even defeat you for it. The pact requires none of the Trait Holders to be killed; if you even remember now, that means you are one of the few indispensable ones back on our rightful world."

Doppelganger frowned as if deprived of the slightest comprehension. But his heart lit up when Baphomet had proclaimed him an indispensable Superior.

"Then why was the Lord of Death killed? Who killed him, and why? He carried the Trait…"

Baphomet raised his scythe to cut him off.

"There is a difference, swordsman. The Trait is born in you; the Strength Whiteterror carried, was usurped."

Doppelganger was briefly surprised when the goat superior mentioned the Lord of Death's mortal name used in Prontera. He even wondered how he managed to find out. But before he followed Baphomet out of Prontera, a formerly great fortress now literally demolished inside out, he decided to ask one last question.

"What was that white lightning? And what do you do with the free Trait?"

"Is your memory failing worse than a seventy-yeared villageman, or are you being denial? Did you not even know what you had done? But I doubt you would understand much, and lets say it is Whiteterror to blame. The Strength Trait, we will see what we can do to resurrect the rightful owner, if that is possible. We've wasted enough time, swordsman. Maybe you might remember something useful to clear your doubts in time."

The last of Baphomet's hooves disappeared into a wavering black portal together with the butt of his scythe.

- -

"The Abyss knight dead…"

She felt a link tightened, then snapped like a twig. It was a feeling she was just barely able to recall. According to her, it had been eons ago since a superior died. Leaping over the dome-shaped roof of the church with perfect agility, Moonlight Flower peered over the high eaves to see hulking, minotaur-like monsters swinging their hammers against the church. Each strike made the entire structure shudder, but her nimble feet kept her stable.

Majorous came all the way south from the clock tower? Would that be too much a coincidence that Abyss is inside the church? All that drivel about being undefeated… you needed these worms nonetheless in your foul little adventure that broke the pact.

She was still brooding over the decision to make a clean job over the minotaurs, or warp herself back into the demon plane, but before she knew what she was doing, Moonlight flipped off the roof to startle the band of Majorouses. Their hammers hung suspended in mid-air, their muscles tensing at the presence of a superior. Despite her size, she looked just as intimidating as any other superior, with her feline qualities and her magic. She put out her bell-pole, doing a circling motion to encompass the whole group of minotaurs.

"Go back home, beasts, back to your clock tower. Whoever commanded you here is dead," she avoided mentioning the Abyss knight, as if it was a blasphemy.

"Don't fool with us, bloody cat," one defiant Majorous stood out. "We travel here, just to be called back? This is total foolishness, cat."

There was an intense silence, some other Majorouses trying to still their twitching muscles for fear that the defiant minotaur had taken a step too far, too far over the line. Moonlight Flower retracted her bell weapon, but never taking her eyes off them.

"I do not travel all the way here to be called a 'bloody cat', minotaur. But I do want to make my trip here more… worthwhile."

A hot bar of red flame projected from Moonlight's palms, splitting upon smaller bolts of fire upon impact. Hammers flew from the Majorouses' hands and those hulking figures fell, seared to the bone. A handful of stubborn Majorouses crawled to their knees, only to be pelted through the skull with jagged bolts of ice, and fell once again, not breathing.

Moonlight turned her back to the dead Majorouses, and skipped over to the silver double doors of the church, one half torn from its hinges. She stole a glance within; there was no trace of any knight in black, except for the shattered remains of his dark armor, and two halves of his black sword. A dent in the ground lay near. Her sweeping gaze also told her of a semi-conscious priestess leaning against the side of a bench, with an assassin close-by who looked like he was teetering on the edge that divided life and death. And a bloodied monk down on one knee with his back turned to her.

That monk again… did he kill Abyss? Monks… I hate to admit it, but Extremity Fists are pretty… dangerous.

That thought lingered for a while in her head for as long as she stood watching. Trying not to arouse their attention to her, she muffled the ringing on her bell-pole and leaped off into the thickening haze.