He moved on, through the night. It occurred to him that this was not a natural darkness. There were no stars and no moon. The black surrounding him was not just the absence of light, it was a thick fog that grabbed at him and threatened to cut him off from everything of life or beauty.

Was it the deep fog alone that darkened this place? Even the light of torches seemed dampened. It was hard to breathe not because of the fog going into his lungs, but because of the pure oppressive weight of it, suffocating his eyes so much so that it transferred to the rest of him.

He still wandered the bridges. Why they had neither railing nor fences he could not understand. What mattered was that he had to be careful. The fall was at least a hundred feet down into a marsh filled with face-devouring arachnids. Not pleasant.

Then he heard the flap of wings, and drew his sword. He was ready this time.

The gargoyle flew down, landing before him; it raised its rapier and lunged. His shield came up just in time, and its edge hit the blade, knocking it out of place and leaving the demon open. The Champion thrust his sword with his might behind it, and it entered the demon's chest. Through its death throes, he heard another flap of wings, behind him.

Everything happened very quickly, he spun around, rolling along the ground and narrowly avoiding the edge. The dying gargoyle rolled with him. A crossbow bolt came out of the darkness above and hit its back. He left his sword in the monster's body, and struggled to unholster his own crossbow. As he did, his new opponent landed on the bridge across from him, and began crawling toward him.

By the time the crossbow was freed, the demon had reached him. It pulled its dead companion off of him then loosed a bolt directly into his body. The gigantic quarrel pierced his armor, and he roared. He swung his shield, and it connected with the gargoyle's skull with a crack. He grabbed the monster and tackled it.

Again, he rolled over, and this time he felt his leg dangling over the edge. So was half of the creature's body. He pulled the bolt out of himself, ignoring the pain, and stabbed it into the Gargoyle's eye. Still, that wasn't enough, the thing grabbed at him with its claws and tried to pull him over the edge. He felt his balance teetering, and in response used his shield to hammer the bolt further into its brain. With one hit, the bolt went out the back, and the creature's head swung down, hitting the side of the bridge. There was a snap as its neck broke, but he didn't stop. Again and again the shield came down, until what had once been a stone face beneath him was now an utter mess. Its weight pulled it down, and he stood, allowing gravity to pull the body away, into the darkness.

He turned, and drew his sword from its companion.

All in all, it had been a fairly easy fight.

He kept walking.

He wished for nothing more than to not be alone on these journeys. That was what truly hurt, the loneliness. He saw only shadows of others, whispers in the fog. Glowing bloodstains that should not have existed in this world. When he touched them, he saw how they had been slain. Other warriors trying to save their own worlds? Strange reflections of him? It was impossible to tell. Sometimes, they became solid enough to assist him.

Other times, they were more malevolent than the demons themselves.

And now, even as he thought of it, he felt the dark presence. The fog suddenly grew thicker. The night darker. His hand went to the hilt of his sword and gripped it as a fierce chill came to him: yet again, the boundary between worlds had been broken. A black phantom had invaded.

He did not know who they were, where they came from, but they were the most cunning enemies he faced. It was when he fought them that he did not know whether he would survive.

All he could do was keep traveling. Hopefully the demon would not encounter him before the next archstone.

The Grey fog was like an immense barrier. And there was no way to avoid it. Again, he'd have to pass through it, and again he'd have to face the monster on the other side. It was becoming a pattern, one that he now understood. And that was good, because he didn't have time to think. He was too busy surviving.

Ahead of him was a massive, spiraling tower, and he knew that it was at the top. It had all the signs. The Deep Fog grew heavier, and the night grew darker. When he reached it, it was anyone's guess on whether he would survive.

And he still hadn't run into that phantom, yet.

Carefully, he entered the tower, a face stealer lunged at him and he easily caught it with the blade of his sword, chopping its face in two. When he looked up, he saw that there were two more of the creature's kin, already lying there, dead.

He did not sheathe the sword.

The steps were a seemingly endless spiral. Stretching further than they had any right to. Even the architecture of this land could not have been built without the Soul Arts. He moved up them, and kept an eye all around him. Spotting things was difficult with his helmet, and he needed to be more careful than he otherwise would have been to compensate.

It came from the side, and narrowly missed him. His enhanced body moved quickly enough to pull itself away.

The pulsating red dagger retreated, and the phantom rolled out of its hiding place between two pillars. It stood still for a moment, a glowing red figure wearing a hooded cloak, before it charged at him, wielding a dagger.

He swung his sword, but the phantom evaded easier than he had, and found an opening before he could recover. The dagger penetrated the joint in his knee. He cried out as pain burned in him, and fell to a kneel, swinging too and fro. Every time the assassin would dodge, wait for an opening, and then thrust his blade. Again and again the dagger met its mark. Blood was wrung from his body as if the knife were a spade digging up red mud. He felt himself fading as he realized that poison coated the dagger. With the number of doses he had taken, he was going to die.

He rushed forward stupidly, trying to grab the evasive demon, who stepped to the side yet again and stabbed him in the back. He had reached his limit, the poison was breaking his body. He fell to his knees, and then to his stomach. He could feel himself losing yet another body, could feel the Nexus pulling him in toward it again…

But when the hooded figure stood over him, and prepared to slit his throat, he saw one last opportunity.

He turned, his sword whirling with him, and cut through the neck of the unarmored rogue. When the sword swung around again, it cleaved the phantom's head clean off.

The red body grabbed at its stub of a neck a few times, and then fell to its knee. Crimson and black mist dissipated, flowing back into the deep fog as if it had never been separate from it. The headless body reached forward one more time, and its fingers wrapped around the Knight's neck guard, but then they too were gone, flowing back into the gap between worlds that this heinous creature had come from.

And again, he was alone.

He stood, and stumbled up the stairs before collapsing at the top of them. Everything in him throbbed, and it felt like his blood had been entirely replaced by venom. He pulled his beaver up just in time to vomit. Even after it was gone he came up in dry heaves and retches. When it finally ended, he collapsed again. His face collided with the mess that had just left him. With the last of his energy, he inched it away, until it was on dry ground. Still, his hair was plastered to him with the remnants of his breakfast.

He did not know how long he lay there.

At some point, though, his hand began to inch toward the pack on its side. And he faded out of consciousness. When he faded back, it was closer.

The movement may not have been entirely conscious, but he pulled the grass out of the pack, and moved it toward his mouth, fading in and out all the way. When it reached him, he chewed, trying to overcome the harsh texture, and finally swallowed.

His wounds evaporated as if they were liquid. The energy of life filled him and his blood ran pure.

His eyes shot open.

Carefully, he pulled himself to his feet, making sure that they could once again support him. He wiped the mess off of his face, and once again lowered his beaver. If there had been anyone else, they would have been shocked he had survived, congratulated him, acknowledged how long it had been since he had collapsed.

But there was no one.

He was alone.

He kept walking, there were no more monsters, and soon the fog was before him. It beckoned him, its wisps licking at his body like dark tongues, pulling him in.

He made sure his armor was undamaged, that his weapon was locked into his gauntlet, and then nodded.

Despite the fog's gaseous appearance, its consistency was anywhere between a liquid and a solid. He felt his entire body being pounded by something. His equilibrium popped and his ears threatened to bleed.

And just when it became completely unbearable, he was on the other side.

He stood on a bridge with a large brazier in the center. Licking flames kept the Deep Fog at bay. With nothing to do otherwise, he stepped forward.

And then he heard it roar.

A monstrosity thrice the size of the other gargoyles he had encountered flew just into his view, and then soared away. Its tail whipped around as if it were a creature in its own right.

Well, that's bad.

The monster landed, and stomped toward him, its grotesque serpent tale swung side to side with its movements, he saw its vicious claws raise, and then strike at him.

His shield came up, but the force behind the blow was so great that it pushed his body sideways, to the edge of the bridge. His boots lost traction as they slid along the smooth stone, and he almost fell.

Another claw came, and he rolled, the monster's claw completely missing him.

He swung his sword and chopped off its tail. The beast roared in agony and spun around, blood spurting from its gaping wound. The tail hit the bridge and writhed for several moments before going still.

Again it attacked with its claws. This time it was less a series of strikes, and more a flurry. His bones rattled as his shield absorbed the force of the strikes. Then, with a single hand, it grabbed the edges of his shield, and lifted him of the ground.

He swung at its arm with his sword, hoping to sever it just as he had done its tail, or at least get it to let go, and he connected several times, but the swipes left nothing but scratches, in response the Maneater swung down, and beat his body against the stone. He felt his entire body rattle. It beat him again, and again, and again, relentless in its punishment. One of his legs hit the ground wrong, and he felt the bones in it shatter. He tried to suppress his cry of pain, but it came out of him, and he didn't sound like a man. The next time he hit the ground, his screams stopped abruptly as his breath left him, his head felt weak and his awareness of the world faded.

Then, he was off the ground again, rising slowly upward. With his free hand he adjusted his helmet and saw that the Maneater was flying. He also registered that he had lost his sword. So much for locked gauntlets.

They were moving slightly forward. He looked down just enough to realize that as they were flying higher, they were also flying toward the fire. It was going to carry him high, to a distance that would kill him regardless, and then drop him into a burning pit.

He had no choice. His free arm went to the buckles of his shield. He pulled on them and struggled until, finally, he managed to get one loose. An instinctive paranoia of heights struck him. His stomach begged him to do everything in his power not to fall, to grab onto the Maneater if he must, as long as he didn't plummet.

He hesitated, but fought it off. His eyes closed, and he pretended there was something soft beneath him as he removed the other buckle.

He screamed again as he fell. His body hit the stone so hard that his armor dented. Every part of him rattled yet again…except for his broken leg, which screamed with fire.

If he died now, he would face the emptiness again…the abyss of nothing…he couldn't. Anything but that, any torture, any pain, anything.

He reached for his crossbow, and held it up. The demon was still in the air, holding his shield.

He aimed and fired.

The bolt hit the Demon's chest dead center. It roared in pain, and swooped down toward him.

He crawled backward with his elbows, dragging his leg as he loaded a second bolt. When the demon raised its claw to swipe off his face, he fired yet again, hitting it in its hand. With whimpers and roars, it still kept coming, and his back hit the brazier.

When it reached him, it reared back both his claws, and struck out.

He dropped the crossbow. Both his hands shot out and grabbed the Gargoyles wrists.

Its eyes widened in bewildered, frustrated shock. It roared at him, its spittle hitting his beaver. Its arms moved with even more strength than he had imagined as it tried to yank them free. For a moment, the thought occurred to stop fighting, to embrace it…then he heard a whisper.

Touch the demon.

He blinked.

I am touching it.

No. came the voice. Unmistakable in its softness, Touch the demon inside you.

He closed his eyes.

He felt the rage of the flamelurker, the false peace of the fool's idol, the confused power of the Old Hero. Others came to him, souls and existences that were now pieces of him. He felt overfull; energy stuffed his body that needed to be let out

And so he freed it.

His muscles tensed as he picked up the Maneater by its claws, and pulled it behind him. It struggled and fought, but the forces within him were too strong. His entire body felt like it was bulging. He pulled it behind him, and its face went down into the fire.

It tried to flap its wings, it struggled and squirmed. But the flames licked up its head and its body, and he held it there. Finally, it managed to flap out of his grasp, its face a charred remnant of what it had once been.

Then he heard the second roar.

Two.

There are two.

He spotted it in the glow of the fire. His sword sat there on the ground. While both of the demons were out of sight, he reached over, and grabbed it. As the sword trembled, he realized how much his arm was shivering.

I cannot afford to be afraid.

And then he pulled himself upward. His leg couldn't support his weight, and he almost gave way, but he used his arm on the brazier to secure himself, and then placed his sword in both hands.

They both landed on either side of him.

One slashed forward and he acted instantly. His sword came forward and severed its hand, which flew over his shoulder and into the fire. He barely heard the roar. His senses were too focused. He swung his sword around aiming for its neck, but caught it along the chest as it dodged. That was the one with the burned face. The other wouldn't be so slow.

Two more claws came at him, swiping in blinding speed. He didn't dodge them entirely, they cut through his armor and dug heavily into his torso, penetrating his skin, but he ignored it. Again the sword came down. This time, it connected. It dug into the Maneater's shoulder, causing one of its arms to fall limp. He then yanked it out again and swung it toward the beast's companion, readying another attack. As the blade flew through the air it caught another arm, and severed it, and kept going. The sword hit the creature directly in its burned face, and flew through the softened flesh, stopping halfway through its brain. When he withdrew it, gray matter came out with it. Another claw hit him, tore into him, he swung back. His blade became a flurry. To and fro, always in front of him, cutting, endlessly cutting. The resistance of the flesh felt like nothing anymore. The claws felt like nothing. Everything faded into the background, more cutting, more, more slicing, a vertical slash brought its entrails out, and blood leaked from its mouth, but he swung again and sliced its head in half.

Both of the Maneaters collapsed.

And he did, too.

He felt them flow into his augite. The souls, fighting the whole way, became his and he breathed heavily. Behind him, there was an archstone. He already knew. He fell onto his stomach, and dragged himself toward it, his blood leaked down into the stone.

He was long past caring how much blood he lost.

Before he reached the archstone, he stopped once, and almost faded out of consciousness. But he forcefully woke himself up, and kept pulling. His armor grinded against the floor, and, finally, panting, he touched it.

"The Nexus…" he asked. "Please…for the love of god please…The Nexus…"

And then he wasn't there anymore. There was a swirl of light, of colors.

He hit the ground.

He felt the safety, the serenity…but could go no further.

I….I…

The world came in and out of focus.

I can't do this anymore…this isn't something any person should do. Not alone.

I can't go on…I'm sorry.

"I can't…" he murmured. And felt his own tears hitting the metal of his beaver. "I can't…I can't…"

Then he felt her hands, gentle against his skin. Their warmth filled him. His head rose, briefly, and then was on something soft.

"Shhh…." Was her whisper, nothing more.

"Thou ist strong. What hast thou accomplisheth on this day? Hmm? Thou hast slain twin beasts, each as fierce as its brother. Come now, heed me. Thou canst do much."

"No longer…I can't breathe…I can't think…no longer…." He murmured.

"Very well," she said. Still holding him in her lap. "But thou canst not exit the Nexus, and shalt be trapped here until the deep fog spreadth, and until the world is swallowed by demons."

"Better…better than this. Anything is better than this."

She nodded. She just nodded. He wanted her to argue. To fight against him. He wanted her to get angry and demand that he continue. Tell him that he was weak, that if he gave up, he was a coward.

But she never did these things. She just sat there, looking ahead blindly, and waited.

Waited for him to get back up.

-

I feel as if I may have taken too long to get the ball rolling with this. The plot is kind of fading into existence rather than starting with a hook. Oh well, there was some action here, and though it may feel like filler, I wanted to pick up where I last left off so that the first three chapters didn't feel like a series of disconnected episodes. What I hope is that this ties the first and second chapters together. And also that it picks up the pace of the story with some good, old fashioned violence.