Chapter 7: The Black Tower (II)

— "When I die in the world of time, then I'm completely asleep. I'm very much aware that all I have to do is choose to wake. And I'm alive again." —

The journey proved to be more arduous with each step, so much so that he found himself feeling fatigued more often. He had traversed the treacherous mountains of Skyrim barefoot as a teenager and faced the ashstorms of Vvanderfell as an adult, but somehow this journey south was testing his experience as a seasoned traveler. The fatigue and pain he felt when he first woke up in that strange realm only increased with every step he took south, as if a poison coursed through his veins, intensifying the closer he got to that unknown destination. It didn't help that once they escaped from the underground prison, they had to cross the treacherous and stormy desert while being pursued, moving quickly and stealthily in the midst of constant and violent sandstorms, dodging all kinds of traps, both natural and artificial, without being able to afford the luxury of resting.

The duo walked for days and nights, barely allowing Mistiora a few brief minutes to eat alone before resuming the urgent journey. He didn't understand why the woman was so desperate to reach whatever their destination was, but he felt the need to accompany her. It was the least he could do for someone who had saved his life, someone who had shown him genuine kindness.

The two crossed deserts, mountain passes, plains, and finally came to a region whose very terrain seemed cursed. It was a land engulfed by darkness, with rivers that seemed to contain a disgusting black viscous liquid instead of water, and strange and grotesque formations in the midst of desolate barrens. The sun was absent from the sky, which was a comfort to him as he no longer had to feel that horrible sensation every time he was forced to stand in its light, but that was of little relief when the unease within him intensified. He felt sick, as if the very air he breathed was a poisonous gas, so much so that even taking a step forward was torture.

"Meryval?" Mistiora said worriedly as she put her hand on his shoulder.

He ignored the gesture, only raising his hand to signal that he was well enough to continue. He could not allow himself to rest, no longer because of Mistiora's urgency, but because he felt something pulling him. He no longer needed the woman's directions to know where he was going, he was instinctively heading in a certain direction. He did not know how to explain it, but something inside and outside of him was urging him on, as if he was being pointed to a destination that awaited him.

The long and arduous journey finally came to an end when they reached what seemed to be the goal of their quest, standing before a gargantuan citadel that stood in the middle of that desolate wasteland. Most impressive, however, was the imposing obsidian spire that seemed to pierce the heavens, rising so high that it even brushed the clouds. The mere sight of that huge and imposing structure caused both a growing desire to venture inside and a worsening of the terrible pain he felt inside.

His head ached, he felt nauseous, and his vision blurred briefly. Nevertheless, he was ready to proceed.

"Meryval," Mistiora said to get his attention.

He took a deep breath to calm his aching mind and turned to face the woman. He could see that she was visibly nervous, as if the sight of the sprawling structure brought back painful memories.

"Mistiora," he replied.

Since verbal communication was still impossible due to the language barrier, she began to make a series of hand signs to explain what she wanted to say. Some he understood perfectly, others he had some trouble deciphering, but after a few minutes he got a rough idea of what she meant: since the few normal entrances would be overrun by enemies, she suggested using an alternate route into the citadel.

Considering his unfamiliarity with the area and the possible dangers that might await them, the best option was to use stealth and the element of surprise, not to mention that the feeling of malaise that gnawed at his being made him wary of facing multiple hordes of enemies at once, so he nodded his head to signal his agreement with the plan. So, with some difficulty, the two moved discreetly around the citadel, taking advantage of the darkness provided by the eternally black sky and avoiding the light of the torches. From the shadows, he could see all manner of abominations, from gigantic, muscular, green-skinned beasts that resembled distorted burlesque parodies of the Orsimer, to small vermin that reminded him of the goblins he had exterminated from the sewers of Mournhold years ago.

Thousands of beasts and creatures surrounded the citadel, organized in what looked like primitive camps. But what struck him most was to see human beings among them, human women. Far from coexisting with these creatures, the human women were reduced to mere cattle, pulled by chains around their necks as if they were animals. For a moment he thought that perhaps these women were the favorite food of these beasts, that perhaps they had the misfortune to be captured and prepared to be the main course of a disgusting banquet, but the sight of several of them pregnant and carrying monstrous and deformed babies made him realize the horrifying situation he was witnessing. Just as the cruel Direnni masters of High Rock had done eras ago, those beasts used human women as little more than breeding slaves, condemned to a life of mating and birthing until death mercifully released them.

His heart ached for those poor unfortunate souls, he even felt the desire to throw himself into battle and free the captives from their monstrous masters, but he knew well that the current state of his body would not allow him to do so. Besides, while he sympathized with the human prisoners, his main objective was to accompany and protect Mistiora while they infiltrated the citadel, so he could not afford to take any risky actions that would put her in danger. With pain in his soul he had to continue on his way, using the shadows as cover as they infiltrated behind enemy lines.

The discreet journey was not an easy one, as they were besieged by all sorts of disturbing sounds. Heartbreaking screams, sadistic laughter in response to those screams, disgusting noises that could only come from the most foul and depraved acts, and much more. This had a noticeable effect on Mistiora, for even though she was in the lead, the nervous and even trembling manner in which she walked made it clear that being so close to those beasts and their victims was causing her something more than the simple repulsion that any normal person would have. It was obvious that she was reliving memories in those moments, memories so painful that the simple act of walking became a colossal ordeal, yet she persisted. There were no words of support he could give since they did not speak the same language, no physical act that could comfort her, so he limited himself to simply following her, protecting her as she went through that nightmare.

The harrowing, stealthy passage between those camps of depravity finally came to an end when the two finally reached what would be their entrance to the Citadel: a small lake. A small body of water that, unlike the rivers of black liquid that adorned the depressing landscape, was pure and crystalline, perhaps the only source of normal water in that cursed land. On the other side of the small lake, there seemed to be a small cave, probably their desired entrance to the citadel's interior. The only thing that would stop them were the creatures that bathed in the water.

"Meryval," Mistiora said softly to get his attention.

She turned and gestured again, indicating that they should hide and wait for the creatures to retreat so that they could swim to the other side without being seen. He had no objections, so he just nodded and followed her to what would be their hiding place. He kept his eyes to the side, always on the lookout for anyone following or spotting them, but he was so focused on that that he didn't notice Mistiora suddenly halting, causing him to collide with her.

"What happened?" he asked, confused.

Looking out to see what had caused the sudden stop, he could see that one of those goblin-like creatures was resting behind the huge rock that was supposed to be their hiding place. Mistiora was paralyzed at the sight of the creature; as soon as it woke up and fixed its bright yellow eyes on them, Mistiora let out a desperate and loud scream. The creature seemed to gloat at the woman's horrified reaction, laughing in a shrill, high-pitched voice before pouncing on her.

STAB

Reacting as quickly as his aching and ailing body would allow, the Dunmer managed to intercept the vermin in mid-air before it reached Mistiora, using the first thing he could grab to stab the creature in mid-flight. The first weapon he could reach was a simple iron dagger, which he had to strain to pierce the monster's small chest due to the poor quality of the blade. The little beast fell to the ground, screaming in agony as it brought its small hands to the embedded dagger, desperately trying to remove it, only to weaken until it finally went limp, dead. The creature's death, however, was of little use to the now hysterical Mistiora, who fell to her knees, hands to her face as she continued to scream in horror, unable to calm herself. This was enough to alert the sea creatures to their presence, rendering any attempt at stealth useless.

"Nchow," he cursed as he ran towards the lake, needing to act quickly.

As he ran, he pulled a particular weapon from his backpack: a huge claymore with a bluish handle. He pulled the weapon from its sheath, revealing a blade so blue it almost seemed to be made of ice.

"Awaken once more, wretched ice fiend!" he shouted. "Today marks another day of your eternal imprisonment, another day since your primordial essence was seized by a mortal and chained forever to this sword-shaped prison."

A faint hiss seemed to come from the sword itself, as if it were the muffled roar of an angry and vengeful being. A cold mist began to emanate from the blade, which seemed to almost glow in response to the Dunmer's words.

"Almion Celmo, that is the name of your jailer, the one who brought you down from your ancestral greatness and condemned you to be a mere tool for mortals. Does it not offend you? Does it not fill you with rage to remember how you were bested by a paltry wizard?"

The sound coming from the sword grew louder, the insane howl of the Frost Monarch that inhabited the weapon now more clearly audible. It was an almost animalistic scream, filled with a burning desire for retribution.

"Unleash your wrath, make your power felt, let this woeful mortal realm feel your might once more!"

Meryval reached the shore of the lake and watched as the dozens of creatures moved like a stampede in the now turbulent waters in his direction. He grabbed the Ice Blade of the Monarch in both hands, and with one swift motion, plunged the claymore into the lake's waters, allowing the millennia of anger, frustration, and thirst of vengeance of the Daedra that inhabited the weapon to manifest as a powerful magical ice that froze the lake in just a few seconds. The creatures had no time to react, and the lucky ones were transformed into inert ice statues, while the unlucky ones had only parts of their bodies frozen, unable to move.

With the lake and the monsters within it frozen, they were no longer in immediate danger, but he knew well that all the noise would have attracted the attention of some of the nearby camps, so it was only a matter of time before more of those creatures came. Carefully returning the frozen claymore to its sheath, he hurried over to the still-stricken Mistiora. She had endured a lot in the short time they had known each other, but the sight of that particular creature had shattered her emotionally. He wanted to help her pull herself together, but they were up against the clock, and if they were careless, they could soon find themselves surrounded by enemies. With reluctance, he forced her to stand and leaned her on his shoulder, forcing her to walk across the icy lake. He was careful to cover her eyes as they passed several icy creatures similar to the one that had given her the panic attack, some of which still had their mouths intact to shout what he assumed were insults and threats.

Finally, the two of them crossed the frozen lake and arrived at the dark cave. Mistiora was too upset to lead the way, so it was his turn to look for the supposed secret entrance.

"Tarcel," he whispered to her, taking a moment to comfort her.

She answered with a soft murmur, her face hidden behind her trembling hands.

"Someone has broken into the citadel," Olga said calmly, not even opening her eyes. "We have intruders."

This surprised the knight, who could only stammer, "H-huh?"

"I sense the presence of two souls who have bypassed our defenses and entered the citadel. I have no doubt that it will take them a long time to find a way into the palace," Olga explained calmly.

"You don't mean... human filth has managed to infiltrate?"

Olga remained silent for a few brief seconds, sitting on her throne with her eyes closed, concentrating on determining the identity of the intruders.

"I can't say," she confessed. "My mind is too sore, and the essence of one of the intruders overpowers the other, so it's hard to tell."

It made no sense, the palace was practically an extension of the queen herself, her conscience reaching down to the last brick that made it up. Her inability to do something as simple as identify the enemy meant that she was worse off than she cared to admit.

"But if there's only two, it's not so dangerous, I can take them on!"

"You will do no such thing," Olga replied promptly. "You are only a child, and your training is far from over. We have no idea what the enemy might be, so I will not allow you to take that risk."

"Lady Olga, I'm fifty-eight now, I'm no longer the helpless little girl you had to save," Chloe retorted. "I have been practicing day and night for the past decades, my skill with the blades is enough to dispatch anyone who tries to harm you!"

"I said no, and that is final!" exclaimed Olga as she rose from the throne. "You will not engage the intruders, that's an order."

Chloe tried to talk back, but the intense golden gaze of her queen prevented any words from leaving her lips. She stood there, hesitant, then turned and ran from the throne room.

"Chloe!"

She ignored her queen's voice, probably the first act of disobedience she had committed in the more than thirty years she had been under her tutelage. She owed her life and freedom to her queen, and she would give anything, even her life, to protect her from those who would do her harm.

The Dark Elf ran through the vast corridors of the palace, taking small shortcuts that she knew would shorten her journey. Her main goal was to reach the palace entrance and stand guard so she could intercept the intruders before they dared to stain Lady Olga's home with their disgusting presence. However, she had to stop running when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye.

"What… what is this?"

She approached a window and watched in horror as the courtyard became the scene of a massacre. Dozens of Aberrants lay dead, several mutilated, and worse, almost all with frozen body parts for some reason. Not even the giant ogres had been able to withstand the invaders, their bodies now reduced to mere chunks of ice and flesh scattered across the ground.

Chloe couldn't help but break into a cold sweat. There were supposed to be only two intruders, but this level of carnage looked like the result of an army battle. Either Lady Olga had made a mistake in determining the number of intruders, or these two people were so powerful that a group of Aberrants posed no challenge. Both possibilities made her equally anxious.

For a moment, she thought that perhaps her queen was right, that she could not face this unknown threat; she was tempted to simply turn around and return to the throne room, where her queen's magic could protect her from any danger. She felt disgusted with herself for even thinking that, for allowing herself to revert to the disgusting mentality of decades ago, when she was a mere plaything for humans. She had changed, she had grown up, she was now a knight in the service of her queen, not just a frightened and helpless child.

"This... it looks recent, they can't have made much progress, I can still intercept them," she whispered as she moved away from the window, trying to calm herself so she could think clearly. "Maybe... I could take them by surprise, attack them when they let down their guard."

She quickly made her way to a nearby wall and pressed on a particular brick for a few seconds until part of the wall began to lower, revealing a secret passageway. She entered, made sure the passage closed again, and returned to the simple, deceptive appearance of a random wall. A direct confrontation with the intruders would be dangerous, so instead she would use her knowledge of the palace to attack unseen. She knew every corridor, every room and every hall in the tower like the back of her hand, so she would have an advantage the invaders did not have. With a little preparation, she could turn the palace into a death trap, where any superiority of the invaders in combat would matter little.

Already mentally preparing the new plan of action, Chloe started to make her way to the lower level, but a certain sound stopped her in her tracks.

"I… I think it's this way, Meryval," a female voice said in a broken tone, as if recovering from a stentorian cry. "It must... it must be this way."

Chloe watched in awe and horror as two figures emerged from the shadows on the other side of the secret path known only to her and her queen. In those seconds, not only had her plan to use the secret passageways as a weapon been destroyed, but she had also discovered that the invaders somehow knew about those secret passageways, something that should not be possible for an outlander who had never set foot in the palace.

Forced to make an immediate decision, the dark elf brandished her twin daggers and charged at the intruders at full speed, hoping to use the element of surprise to at least land a blow that would, with luck, kill one of them. She quickly targeted the intruders on the right, as they did not appear to be wearing armor to defend themselves, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. When she was close enough, she took a powerful leap so that she could pounce on the intruder with the intention of plunging her dagger into their neck.

STAB

The steel of the dagger was now lodged, causing a great deal of blood to trickle to the ground. However, instead of being stuck in the intruder's neck, the dagger was buried in an open palm that had quickly stepped into the path of the attack. She tried to pull the dagger out, but soon realized that the hand had clenched into a fist, trapping the blade. Chloe looked up, stunned, only to be met by a pair of bright crimson eyes that pierced her very soul.

"Y-you…"

A powerful kick to the stomach interrupted Chloe before she could utter a word, sending her flying like a rag doll. The Dark Elf could feel the air leaving her being and had to gasp for breath; she tried to get up from the floor, but failed due to the numbness that now dominated her.

"Meryval! Are you all right?" cried a female voice.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe could see what appeared to be a woman, the one who had been saved from being pierced through the neck by the sudden intervention of the red-eyed monstrosity. Even in the darkness and with slightly blurred vision, she could make out something, and that was that the woman had the same skin color as herself, with long, pointed ears similar to her own.

That woman was a Dark Elf, just like herself.

"Your hand!" the woman exclaimed as she rushed to tend to the red-eyed aberration.

The Dark Elf showed concern for the monster, placing her hands on the bloody hand to see how she could help. The abomination seemed to show no sign of pain, even withdrawing the dagger as if it were nothing. The woman did not take long to attend to him, quickly tearing off a piece of her own clothing to cover the wound in a makeshift manner, showing such a level of care for the beast that Chloe could not help but feel disgusted.

Chloe's body was still dazed and weakened from the ferocious kick, so much so that even resting one knee on the ground to support herself was exhausting, but she had to do something. It had become clear that a frontal attack was not a viable option, so the only thing left was to run. It was evident that the intruders had figured out how to get into the secret tunnels of the palace, but they certainly wouldn't know all the secrets and tricks she had memorized over the decades she had lived there. She could still use the element of surprise, find a way to lose them in that hidden maze, buy time to return to her queen and plan something, anything, to wipe them out.

She prepared to make a desperate dash down a nearby tile that concealed a passageway to the floor below, but before she could, she looked up to find that the other Dark Elf had turned her attention from her monstrous companion's wounded hand to her; she looked at her in the same haunting way her own mother had done decades before.

"A hybrid?" she mused in surprise. "What's a hybrid doing here?"

Those words were like razor sharp arrows aimed at her very being, so simple and yet so horrific that any semblance of logical thought vanished from Chloe's mind the moment she heard them.

"Don't you dare..." she muttered weakly due to lack of air, but filled with genuine disgust. "Don't you dare call me that!"

Chloe rose from the ground with what little energy she had left and lunged at the woman, motivated by her deepest wrath. However, she was quickly intercepted by the red-eyed abomination before she could swing her dagger at the woman and found herself pinned to the wall with both wrists restrained. She struggled to free herself, kicking and stamping at the intruder, but she could not even get him to move. She was trapped.

"Please, you must calm down," the woman said. "I don't know who you are, but the fact that you are in this palace, in these passages that only a Sister can know, is a sign that you may be an acquaintance of Sister Olga. If that is the case, then you should know that we are not your enemy."

"Sister?..." repeated Chloe incredulously. "Lady Olga never mentioned a sister!"

"She didn't do it?" the woman asked with what sounded like genuine surprise. "No matter, we don't have time to explain. We got the message from Sister Olga's golem, so we came to rescue her."

That explanation made no sense. Her queen had never spoken to her about needing rescue, and she had never mentioned anything about a message from a golem. There were no hidden secrets between her and Lady Olga, so it was impossible that she had kept anything from her, especially when it came to her own safety.

"That's a lie!" Chloe roared. "If Lady Olga needed help, she would have asked me, not strangers. Don't think I'm going to be fooled by such a blatant lie like that!"

The woman seemed to be beginning to lose her patience, even taking on a more stern tone in response to Chloe's refusal.

"Whether you believe in what I say or not is of no importance. We are going to see Sister Olga, and it is up to you whether you will help us or not."

"I'd rather die than let scum like you near Lady Olga!" Chloe replied venomously, even struggling to free herself from the strong grip, but to no avail.

This time there was no response from the woman other than a simple sigh of resignation. Instead of continuing to talk to her, the woman turned her attention to her companion, making strange hand signals to indicate something. Whatever she said to him, it was probably not going to be good for her. Chloe continued to struggle to free herself, flailing and kicking as much as she could, just looking for the slightest chance to escape.

"Now release me!" barked Chloe. "If you do not release me this instant, I assure you that your reanimated corpses will be used as slaves by my queen for all eternity! So you better—"

Before she could finish that threat, Chloe was roughly separated from the wall, her arms forcibly placed behind her back and held there with insulting ease by the beast. It was all so sudden that she barely had time to react, and before she knew it, she was being forced to walk.

"We have no time to waste, so if you don't want to help, that's fine, but we won't let you slow us down," explained the woman who had taken the lead as she walked forward. "We're going to find Sister Olga with or without your help."

Chloe tried with all her might to break free, but to no avail. She was forced to walk, stripped of any agency of her own, reduced to what she had sworn she would never be again. She grunted and screamed, hurling every imaginable insult and threat at her captors at the top of her lungs, but finally found herself resigned. In shame, she had to endure hours of being carried through the passageways as a prisoner, her only consolation being that the intruders were lost in the complicated and ever-changing internal structure of the palace. As she suspected, they seemed to have some idea of how the secret passages worked, but were completely unaware of the secrets and tricks they held.

The perfect opportunity presented itself when they came to an intersection of two roads where the woman in charge had stopped to inspect the paths and determine which was the correct one. Taking advantage of that brief moment when their attention was elsewhere, Chloe used all the strength and weight of her body to push the aberration holding her captive, causing them to fall to a certain part of the ground; their bodies, however, went through what appeared to be solid stone, for it was merely a magical illusion. It was one of the many hidden traps, one that consisted of a deep, dark, hidden hole leading to the lower parts of the palace, the depth of which would ensure the death of anyone who fell through it.

"Meryval!" the woman cried in a heart-rending voice as she watched them fall.

The two fell in free fall; the shock of the fall was such that the beast soon released her. Chloe used this freedom to escape and grab onto a wall that was another illusion concealing a corridor. The dark elf held on and managed to climb up, watching from below as the creature fell into the darkness of the hole, presumably to its death.

"I... I've done it," she mused, smiling slightly satisfied.

Chloe breathed a deep sigh of relief. She had managed to eliminate one of the intruders, probably the more dangerous of the two. Now all that remained was the woman, who she suspected would be easier to dispatch. She had feared she would fail, but now she knew she would succeed in personally disposing of the intruders and defending her queen. Her heart began to pound with excitement at the thought of the pride Lady Olga would feel for her when she told her the news.

"Now I just have to find the other one and..." she paused for a moment, seeing something in the darkness of the hole that petrified her. "No... it can't be."

From the depth of the hole, a figure began to emerge. Walking on air as if it were nothing, the red-eyed beast began to emerge from the hole. The creature floated with frightening ease and came towards her, wielding a huge blue claymore. Chloe remained stunned for a few seconds before she reacted, quickly rising to her feet and running into the hallway, wielding the only dagger she had left, preparing for a fight she wasn't sure she could win.

The anxiety she felt at that moment was more painful than the worst torture. Olga sat on her throne, her free hand on her temple, looking tense at the large door of the throne room. Every second of the last few hours had been one continuous agony, as she had had to remain seated knowing that Chloe could be in danger. She had to stay there in those crucial moments, her duty as the Holy Bride preventing her from getting up and interrupting the ritual, even if it hurt her to the core.

Chloe was just a child, an infant not even a hundred years old, and yet she was there, alone, facing an unknown threat. This foolish child had decided to act at the worst possible moment, just when Olga had to deal with the agonizing daily hours of meditation for the ritual. Unable to get up from her throne and with her magical powers exhausted, Olga could do nothing to help her knight, only wait in desperate uncertainty and pray for her safety.

"Father-God, please help her," she whispered with pain in her voice.

The only hope she had left was that her mother had received the message through the Golem, though she knew it was only a vague possibility. Even if her mother had received the message, it was doubtful that she would be willing to help her. There was no greater dishonor for a Discordia than to show weakness, and asking for help was perhaps the worst sin a member of the House could commit. It was possible that her mother would simply ignore her for dishonoring her by asking for help, and she couldn't really blame her.

All she could do was suffer a slow, excruciating, agonizing wait.

"Father-God..." she whispered in desperation as she put her hand to her abdomen.

Suddenly, the huge door to the throne room opened noisily. Olga looked up in surprise, not knowing if it was Chloe or the intruders. To her surprise, it was neither, for the one who entered was a dark elf with long, snow-white hair.

"Sister Olga!" the woman exclaimed as she entered, dashing across the throne room in a hurried, desperate rush.

That was a woman she had not seen in centuries, a woman she had thought she would never see again for the rest of her life.

"Sister… Mistiora," Olga said in astonishment.

As soon as she was in front of the throne, Mistiora lunged at her and caught her in a tight embrace. In that brief moment, all worries and sorrows left Olga's mind, and for the first time in a long time she felt the warmth of an embrace full of genuine family love.

"I received your message, so I came to rescue you," Mistiora hastened to say, not breaking the embrace for a second. "I was afraid I'd come too late, but thank the Father-God you're okay!"

Olga was too shocked to speak, still trying to process the fact that Mistiora was not only alive, but standing in front of her; for a moment she even thought that maybe the stress had made her fall asleep and now she was dreaming.

"I have too much to explain to you, but we don't have time," Mistiora said, backing away a little so she could look into her face. "I didn't come alone, I have a companion who helped me get here, but we ran into a hybrid and…"

She could no longer listen to what Mistiora was saying, for suddenly she felt something in her body that shook her. She began to feel dizzy, nauseous, almost fainting; something was happening in the palace, an event that was somehow twisting the sacred energy of the tower and affecting her. It was some kind of encounter, a battle between two forces so paradoxically similar that it was difficult to tell them apart; they seemed to be almost one and the same entity.

"Watch out, boss!" shouted one of the mercenaries.

It was almost insulting that they had to warn him. It might be that the movements of the gray-skinned abomination were faster than those of the average Aberrant, but that meant nothing to him. He was the Mercenary King, the warrior capable of uniting humans and Aberrants under one banner, the one destined to change the history of the continent; compared to him, that scrawny gray-skinned thing was an insignificant fly that no one would remember in years to come.

"Come on, put more effort into it, give my boys some good entertainment!"!" shouted Vult jokingly.

His greatsword slammed into the claymore with a mighty impact, causing steam to rise from the impact. The weapon of that creature was undoubtedly a very peculiar one, so much so that he would seek to claim it as a trophy when he was finished.

"Now, now, give me something better than that or don't waste my time," Vult said as he put more force into the clash of swords, giving the enemy a teasing smile. "I've got better things to do, so you'd better make this worth—"

CRACK

To Vult's astonishment, his greatsword had just shattered. He had been so intent on taunting the enemy that he had not noticed that the steel of his weapon had begun to freeze on contact, turning to ice that broke in a single blow. Surprised, he clutched the hilt of his shattered weapon and barely had time to react as the enemy plunged the claymore into his chest in one swift motion.

"Vult!" Keane cried out in horror.

Blood began to spew from the King Mercenary's mouth as he fell to his knees, almost unresponsive. The light in his eyes faded as the ice that began to form in his chest quickly spread throughout his body, turning him into a statue of ice.

It was the end.

Vult quickly pulled his greatsword away from the claymore. He had gotten a bad feeling, which was confirmed when he saw how parts of the weapon had begun to freeze on contact with the enemy claymore; a little more and he would have lost his weapon.

"That was close," he mused as he stood on guard again, now careful to keep his distance. "I see you have a few secrets up your sleeve. Just as well, lest I die of boredom, eh?"

The gray-skinned creature did not respond to his joking remark, proving once again that it was incapable of understanding his language; it lunged at him with unexpected speed as it raised the claymore high and brought it down forcefully in a slash meant to cleave him in half. Vult reacted as quickly as he could, darting to the side with barely a second to spare as the claymore fell mightily and fleetingly to his left, hitting the ground. The perfect opening presented itself in the brief seconds it would take for the creature to lift its weapon from the ground, leaving it completely defenseless against a side attack.

"Not bad, friend," Vult said as he prepared to attack, raising his greatsword high in the air. "But I have no more time for—"

SLASH

The attack was so swift that Vult did not even have time to process it; for a moment he was so stunned that he could not even comprehend what he was seeing, needing a few seconds to realize that he was looking at the remains of his own mutilated body. Somehow, the creature had managed to lift the weapon from the ground and attack him in an instant, slicing his body horizontally and cutting him in half. His upper body had fallen to the ground, still holding the greatsword, the weapon now little more than dead weight for his stiffened arms. A ghastly pool of blood began to form and organs spilled from his mangled torso; what little he could register through his ears, other than the ringing, were the horrified screams of his men.

It was the end.

"I-I can't believe it," stammered one of the mercenaries. "That A-Aberrant... it's as strong as the b-boss."

"Shut the hell up!" yelled Keane, causing the mercenary in question to flinch. "It's not, it's just lucky Vult's in the mood to play with his prey, that's all."

A little over twenty minutes had passed since the beginning of the fight, in which Vult surprisingly did not have the upper hand. Vult and the Aberrant seemed to be evenly matched, neither able to overwhelm the other, as the fight consisted mostly of one blocking and dodging the other's attacks, neither able to even land a scratch. As much as it pained Keane to admit it, the gray-skinned Aberrant was easily Vult's equal, so much so that the wizard doubted even his boss's ability to defeat it. Now it was a matter of waiting to see which of the two would tire first and become easy prey, which Keane feared would be Vult, given the lack of rest between the siege of the citadel and the entrance to the palace.

The fight dragged on, lasting up to an hour from the start. Neither had been able to land a blow on the other, but while the red-eyed Aberrant seemed normal, Vult began to show signs of fatigue; his breathing became heavy, sweat soaked his forehead, and his foot speed slowed considerably.

"All of you, assist Vult," Keane ordered as he opened his grimoire. "This is an order, if you do not obey it will be an act of disobedience and treason!

The mercenaries looked at the wizard in bewilderment, surprised and frightened by such an order.

"You are many and he is one, you have the numerical advantage!" shouted an already annoyed Keane. "Now go!"

The mercenaries hesitated for a moment before obeying the order and charging into battle, weapons in hand. Like a horde, they swarmed the gray-skinned Aberrant, attacking from all sides in the hope that one of them would do some damage. To their collective horror, the Aberrant proved to have energy to spare, for not only did it manage to intercept and dodge most of the attacks with a series of fleeting and almost imperceptible movements, but it also began to make some sort of strange hand gestures that Keane quickly recognized as some sort of magical incantation.

Sensing danger, Keane held out a hand forward, causing a huge shadowy hand to emerge from the grimoire and reach out in the direction indicated. The huge dark hand grabbed Vult and dragged him violently, just in time to be out of range of a powerful burst of fire that incinerated the mercenaries. A massive wall of fire had formed, from which the Aberrant emerged unaffected by the flames, its crimson eyes glowing almost as brightly as the fire around it; there was no doubt that this was no mere monster, this was a demon from the myths of old.

"Vult, we have to retreat, we can't win," Keane said in a desperate tone, nervously turning the pages of the grimoire to find the desired spell.

"Like fuckin' hell we are," Vult replied as he rose from the ground, visibly angry at being pulled out of the fight. "If you think I'm going to run away with my tail between my legs because of some cheap magic trick by some freak of nature, you're sorely mistaken."

"We don't have time for this, Vult!" shouted Keane. "This is beyond what we were prepared for, we have to retreat and—"

"And give up my dream? I'd rather die," Vult interrupted. "Besides, if you think that thing is capable of beating me, I guess those books have finally rotted your brain."

Ignoring all warnings and even logic itself, Vult raised his weapon high and began running toward where the Aberrant stood, determined to fight to the bitter end. It was an attitude that had led him to greatness, but now it would lead to death, something Keane could not allow.

"Hear me, O wretched forgotten lords," Keane recited, having finally found the desired spell. "Accept this sacrifice I offer you and allow us to travel beyond the jealous eyes of the heavens."

Invisible to the unaware eye, the souls of recently deceased mercenaries still lingered in this place, their deaths so abrupt and cruel that their spirits wandered rather than rested. With the utterance of these words, the grieving souls were forcibly absorbed into the grimoire, sacrificed to ghoulish entities beyond the existential plane, and used as little more than bargaining chips in the transaction.

"Strip away the light and let the darkness guide us, Abyssal Warp!"

Just as Vult stood a few feet from the Aberrant, ready to strike with a mighty slash of his greatsword, a miasma as dark as night enveloped him, causing him to vanish into thin air. The same enveloped Keane and soon all the other Black Dogs still inside the palace, driving them away from the Black Citadel.

The operation had failed.

"O great holy Mother Laurentia, please forgive all my transgressions and kindle your mercy upon me," Roderick prayed in a panicked whisper. "Please watch over me, and in your infinite goodness—"

"Shut your mouth, you human scum!" the blonde Dark Elf shouted as she smacked him on the head with an open hand. "Lady Olga speaks. If you raise your filthy voice again without her permission, I will have your tongue cut out."

Roderick nodded his head in fright and remained silent.

"Please go on, Lady Olga," the Dark Elf said.

How did this situation come about? It was hard to say. It all started when he accidentally got separated from the group while they were exploring the palace and got lost in that scary and confusing place. He wandered around for a while until he heard the sound of scuffling, and before he knew it, he was pushed by a body and ended up falling an entire floor. He didn't even have time to recover from the pain of the fall before he was forcibly lifted and threatened with a dagger to the neck to follow his captor. Now he found himself in the throne room of the infamous Dark Queen, on his knees and with his hands tied, helpless and at the mercy of the tyrant responsible for countless atrocities.

He was supposed to become a hero, someone to whom the bards of the future would dedicate songs about his exploits and his contribution to ending the Dark Queen's reign of terror, someone worthy to claim Nicole as his wife, but instead he was nothing more than a prisoner.

"I… I want to go home," he whispered while keeping his head down.

The Dark Queen sat on her throne a few feet away from him, but far from focusing her attention on him, she was engaged in a discussion between herself, the blonde Dark Elf, and a certain Dark Elf with long white hair, one whose beauty awakened something in Roderick, almost like a primitive and feral allure, but in the situation he found himself in, fear far outweighed any possible lust. He did not even pay attention to what they were talking about, for the fear of what they might do to him made him focus all his attention on constant prayers to the Goddess, hoping that somehow a miracle might happen in that cursed land.

"Andrew, Mr. Hicks, Mr. Vult, someone, anyone, please save me."

As if in response to his request, a strange dark miasma began to surround him, something the three women noticed immediately. The Dark Queen hastened to raise a hand toward him, making a gesture that caused it to dissipate from him, much to his confusion.

"You dared to try to escape with the help of profane arts?" The Dark Queen asked with a stern tone that petrified him.

"I-I didn't do anything!"

"Not only do you dare to invade my palace with your ilk, desecrate the ancestral possessions of my people with your foul presence, and attempt to harm my welfare and that of my ward, but you also have the audacity to lie to my face. Tell me, human, are you by any chance too brave for your own good, or too stupid?"

Roderick felt like he was already on the verge of tears.

"I don't think he was responsible for that, Sister Olga," the white-haired Dark Elf said. "It seemed a very advanced technique for someone of his... simplicity."

That was certainly an insult, but at the same time, it was the most positive thing that had been said about him since he had been forcibly taken to that throne room.

"I suppose you are right, Sister Mistiora. This insect does not seem to have the aptitude to understand even the basic steps of a simple spell, let alone something of such caliber as the profane arts," the Dark Queen said calmly as she brandished her staff in her free hand, pointing it at him. "However, I can sense that the other essences that had defiled this temple of the Father God are gone, and whatever was responsible has tried to take him as well. This human carries important information about what happened today, and I will be sure to extract it by any means necessary."

The staff began to glow with an almost blinding power, emitting a light that began to surround Roderick's body. Soon the young farmer-turned-mercenary began to float in the air, feeling the evil energy begin to pierce not only his body, but his very soul.

Just as he suspected, joining the Black Dogs had been a bad idea.