I know, I know, I probably deserve to die for the end of the last chapter.

But things are going a little bit faster in real life, thankfully…

Anyways, things should really pick up here shortly. Readers, PLEASE do not hate me. If there's one thing I can't really ever stand, it's killing off characters I'm attached to. Think on that.

Reviews?

Thunder of Life: Don't worry about not reviewing for a while. ^^ You're back, and you're okay (or so I assume from seeing you here) so everything's fine. :)
Hah, I'm glad you love it. :D The more people who love this, the better!
That is not a bad habit! And if you'd like to write a DF fanfiction, I'd be happy to help if you want me to. ^^ I've already got another planned out for when this one is done, though by no means am I going to tackle two long fanfictions at once. O.o
Time is one thing that is always needed. -.- XD

ImInivisibleForNow: Yup, we always knew he would. ^^
Hmm, yup, I think that would "seal the deal", as you put it. X3 (I don't know, will she?)
Hah, I'm glad you love it! :D

So, let's get to the chapter. In the last one… well, I'll let you read the tail end of the last chapter.


Then the magic was flying at him again before his eyes could adjust to the darkness again, this time hitting him directly on the breastplate of his armor, right above his sternum. Then Artix was flying too, in the same direction the energy had been traveling. He crashed into what remained of the wall around the cemetery before the receptors in his brain could register the white-hot pain of the spell hitting his body, and then stars exploded before his eyes before everything became dark.

No…


My eyes rolled back slightly as I fell to the ground. My temple thudded against the ground, but I didn't notice. It was a little too difficult to notice anything at the moment. My heartbeat sounded in my ears like a steady, loud drum, and my vision blurred around the edges.

The pain… it's…

Gone?

A soft groan of exhaustion and soreness escaped my lips as I struggled to sit up, and I fell back twice. However, I finally managed, and was confronted with a scene that not even my nightmares could match.

Vayle, the Necromantress slut, standing above me with an expression comparable to having just stepped in something nasty. A deep black hood covered her head, but at this angle, I could see her. Her pale blue eyes glittered with triumph, and she smirked evilly, walking away.

What was she doing here? I wondered, watching the giant pink jewel trailing after her. What… what's happened? I looked down at my hands numbly. There seemed to be some sort of burn marks on them. I'm covered in stone dust…Something tickled the side of my neck, and I swiped at it, only to have my fingers come back red. Blood…? I blinked dazedly, and looked around in a slightly deadened way, feeling like I was stumbling through a dream. A very, very bad dream. But as I've said before, no dream could have even had the chance to equal the scene that spread before my gradually clearing vision.

Krieger.

He lies across from me, entirely motionless. His face is turned partially away, so I can only see the side. The lightest brush of wind stirs the strands of copper hanging over his now-glassy eyes, usually so warm, so cheerful, gleaming with the light of fun. His thin lips are parted slightly, but no breath escapes. Everything is completely still. I manage to push myself up with my arms, mindless of my fallen and now-lost staff, and his name slips off my tongue like honey, however much I may have tried to stop it. Just like the other countless times I had said his name, coming from my mouth it sounds like everything, and yet just another name. But it wasn't. It never was.

"Artix…"

And the first of the rain begins to fall. It strikes his face, and then slowly drips off. He makes no move to wipe it away; he doesn't shift at all. He simply remains where he has fallen, as still as the stone that surrounds us both on the ground, surrounded by rubble. And the rain suddenly begins to pour down, coming down in sheets and torrents. I am frozen, both mentally and physically. The horror and sheer shock of what has befallen us keeps me still as the cold slowly seeps in with the night, and shivers begin to rack my body as the night wears on. Still the rain pours down. Still I cannot move.

It was never supposed to end this way. Never. Not in a thousand years. Not in anyone's lifetime. Nobody should have had to go through this, least of all him, for he was one of the people who deserved it the least.

Never would I have chosen for things to end this way between us. Never would I have chosen for him to be struck down by my own hand. Never would I have chosen for him to fall quite so easily, unwilling to attack or even touch the one who was attempting to take his life. He should never have gone in this fashion; dark red cloak in tatters; gleaming silver-and-gold armor tarnished and scratched, even dented and punctured in some places; copper-colored hair's healthy shine gone; lightly tanned skin that was visible covered in injuries and burns.

And it had been my hand, my magic that had done this.

How did this happen? I wonder silently, as crystal-clear water that is not rain cascades down my cheeks silently. How did we get to this point?

Suddenly, my head snaps back, and I'm staring up at the sky, up at the rain that refuses to relent, beating down on us. The dark, steel-grey clouds mindlessly pass over us, continuing to dump their torrents of rain.

My mouth parts slightly, as though to whisper his name again, but I cannot. The wound is still too raw. Instead, a broken, agonized, purely tortured scream of something that felt like grief but might have been torment ripped its way out of my mouth, and I physically felt my throat tear with the sheer volume and force of the cry. The copper taste of blood made its presence known in my mouth. Were I not right there at that moment, I would never have believed that I could have ever have created such a sound. It seemed to go on forever, and wave upon wave of grief and sorrow racked my body as I trembled with unsuppressed misery.

My nails dug into the dirt of the path as I continued to cry, simply staring at his frozen form.

"No. No, no, no, no, no."

I couldn't stop.

This should not have happened. Not like this.

"No, no, no!"

I should have just apologized when I had the chance…

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no…"

Why did she do this?

I looked down at the burns on my hands again, and then back up at his armor. In the center, there was a place where the breastplate looked like it had been destroyed by a small, controlled explosion. My hands had the same affliction.

No… was… was this ME?

At this, my mind snapped.

Footsteps—many sets of them—sounded in the rain, but I did not move.

"What's going on?"

"Who's that?"

"What… the cemetery!"

"Where's the paladin?"

Citizens of Amityvale, my mind noted emotionlessly. It was nothing more than a fact. They must have heard the explosions.

"Are you alright? Mage?"

I didn't even hear them. I didn't want to face those hundreds of questions they would have fired at me, and I was not in a state to answer them. Mentally, I was nowhere. I was nothing. I felt like an empty shell of what used to be.

It was me.

My eyes fixed on an armored form that four people carried past. I did this.

"Mage?"

I became aware of a young woman shaking my shoulder gently, her voice soft and soothing. It made little to no impact on me. She had short blue hair, tied back with a bright scarlet ribbon that seemed very out of place here. She wore a pale yellow hat with moglin ears on it. She seemed far too cheerful to be in Amityvale to me.

"We need you to come back with us," she murmured, lightly smoothing my hair down. She couldn't have been much older than I was, but… she acted like a mother would. Just nodding blankly, I tried to get up. But no sooner was I on my feet than I started to tip forward again. She caught me, and called out calmly for someone to help me. I felt someone slip an am under my shoulders—I didn't respond, I was too shocked to do much of anything—and it was in this fashion that we returned to Amityvale through the rain.

And all the while, tears continued to slide down my cheeks silently.


Wow.

Even I'm impressed at how much emotion I managed to slip into this chapter (minus the prologue scene, of course).

So, by the looks of things, Artix is gone (Aw, Juliet can't bring herself to say "dead"- *smack*), Magiya's mentally broken, the cemetery is destroyed, Vayle is on the loose with no opposition, and nobody's really going to take care of all the undead monsters.

What a mess this is for our characters, hmm?

Now, I'm going to advise anyone who suddenly got hit with the 18-wheeler Inspiration Truck; DO NOT rush into anything! Plan every single little thing out! I mean EVERYTHING. In the last chapter, Artix knowing that it wasn't really Magiya because she wasn't right-handed? GET THE FREAKING DETAILS. Make sure character development is completely and thoroughly finished, and everything makes sense! If your character is terrified of his or her reflection, say, then make sure you have a reason why! Did a hand reach out and grab them from the mirror when they were little? Did they ever see a haunted mirror, and have feared their reflection ever since? Find a reason.

For instance, Magiya? She is really caustic towards Artix and doesn't get close to anybody because she's seen people hurt by love and caring time and time again, and she really doesn't want that to happen to her.

A person with really nice hair, that might show they're vain about their appearance. Or someone who always carries this old watch, it could have belonged to their great-grandmother, whom they were very close to. ALWAYS FIND A REASON for why one of you characters acts a certain way or has some sort of detail about them. Know them inside and out!