As soon as they set foot on the Black Citadel, it was obvious Rhapthorne had not been able to fully restore his fortress. Stone walkways, already broken and cracked during their first visit, now sported crumbling gaps, while the towers leaned and swayed drunkenly. Even the monsters they encountered showed the effects, less numerous, slower, weaker.

It was, Eight thought bitterly after their second battle, the only thing keeping them alive.

He finished pouring amor seco essence over the bloody gash on Jessica's arm, watched the wound stop bleeding but not close, and resisted a sigh as he reached for another precious vial. Their healing supplies were not going to last, and he had no choice but to save his magic in case one of them got killed.

Jessica stopped him before he broke the seal. "Don't waste it," she said. She tested the arm cautiously, and the bleeding didn't resume. "I can fight like this."

He offered her a smile - he should have realized she'd be as aware of their limited supplies as he was - and turned to Yangus.

The bandit wiped away a trickle of blood where a demon's spear had gone through his shield and reached his shoulder. "Don't need no doctorin' yet, guv." He lifted his axe. "Now come on. Shouldn't keep ol' Rhappy waiting."

They had to find their way through the mazelike castle all over again, picking their way through rubble, backtracking from shattered stairways.

They finally reached the doorway through which they'd escaped last time. Jessica went pale, her gaze going immediately to the pit of shattered stones where Angelo had fallen. Eight and Yangus both reached for her, but she shook them off and went fearlessly to the very edge of the crumbling walkway.

For a very long time, she looked down. She was silent, though her shoulders shook as if with tears. Neither man dared approach her.

When she turned around, red-eyed and grim, they didn't speak or question. They simply followed her through the scarred wooden door and into the heart of Rhapthorne's lair.

Daily, he stood guard by Rhapthorne's throne. Such a thing should not have been necessary, but there were spells which required all of Rhapthorne's concentration, or all of his strength, and there were those who would dare assault him even here, in the heart of his realm.

He feared, sometimes, that he would fail his Lord, regretted that he needed food and sleep, that he could not be as tireless as the sentinels too-slowly repopulating the castle.

But Rhapthorne would not have saved him, given him this position, if he could not fulfill it. As any who challenged him would learn.

None of them spoke until they reached the Spiral City, and saw that the four statues had been reduced to three.

"Oy, guv," Yangus said, his lowered voice still managing to bounce off the stones around them, making Eight flinch. "This place is tellin' wot the future'll be or somefin, right? So then, if Angelo's statue is gone, don't that mean..."

"It doesn't mean anything," Eight snapped. He didn't know or care if the Spiral City truly showed them a past in which their fight had been prophesied, or led them into a twisted future, or if it was all illusion. "This doesn't mean any more than the four statues did the first time we came."

"Yeah, but..."

"We haven't time for this," Jessica snapped. She crossed the corridor to the inscription on the far side and stood, waiting for them rather than touching the dark stone.

Eight looked at Yangus, then followed, climbing the stairs slowly. As he had known it would be, the inscription was different.

The three statues represent the three pilgrims who will journey under a cloud of loss and despair.

He glared at the words, glad Jessica didn't seem to have read them. They had suffered losses, yes, but none of them had ever given into despair.

Until we lost Angelo.

He ignored the unbidden thought, and placed his hand on the magical seal.

"It is time, my knight."

He looked at the Lord of Darkness, who leaned forward on his throne, an expression of - expectation? - sharpening his features.

"They come."

Anticipation surged through him. His Lord's enemies were coming, as Rhapthorne had known they would. This was why he lived, why he took his post daily beside Rhapthorne's throne. This was his opportunity to repay, in small part, everything his Lord had done for him.

"You will serve me well."

He bowed his head. "I will serve you," he brushed his hand against the hilt of his sword, "with my life."

The magical seal flared to life under Eight's hand. Just as it had the first time they entered the city, it healed them, restored their own magic, even repaired the rents and damage to their weapons and armor.

Eight smiled with relief. He'd been half afraid it wouldn't work, that the magic had been exhausted before, or that Rhapthorne had realized what the seal did and destroyed it, that they would be trapped, too weakened to face Rhapthorne, too weakened - or too stubborn - to escape.

They had a chance.

He turned around to look at the others. Yangus was frowning and shifting nervously, and Jessica stood with her head bowed, the hands over her face in no way concealing her tears.

She hadn't cried since those first few minutes on the ship, when they'd returned without Angelo. The sight now gave him a sick feeling of dread.

"Jess?"

"He wasn't there," she whispered. "In the pit. I could... I could see where he'd fallen... so much blood... the stones didn't cover it, weren't near it." She looked up, her gaze going to the statues - no, to the gap where one statue was missing. "The dust must have kept us from seeing him when it happened, but today... I could see all the blood where he'd been, and he wasn't there."

Eight swallowed hard, the dread giving way to literal sickness. He hated to think Angelo dead, but truly believed the Templar lost to them, crushed under tons of fallen rock. As much as the idea hurt, as much as the imagined image had tormented his dreams, it was preferable to Jessica's belief that Angelo lived, in Rhapthorne's hands.

For the first time, he suspected that she had looked down into the pit hoping to refute those fears, not confirm them.

Goddess, if she's right...if Rhapthorne has him, has had him all these days...

He couldn't bear to think of what they might find, if they did find Angelo, and he wouldn't consider not finding Angelo, if there was any chance he was still alive.

Silently, he took Jessica's hands, cold and still damp with her tears. "We will find him," he vowed, and fresh tears streaked her cheeks. "If we have to take this place apart stone by stone, we aren't leaving him behind again."