"'You don't talk with that man—you listen to him.'"

-Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

The Dregling ran its fingers along the ground, drawing in the dirt and forming shapes and symbols. Some aspect of its mind, once human, recognized the letters that it was trying to create. But that was buried deep. Too deep.

And it faded the moment the Dregling smelled human.

Souls, it thought, and scurried along the ground thinking nothing else at all. It was a smart Dregling, yes it was. It had learned from the others. Running on two legs was too slow. No, you had to scramble, you had to pull with your hands, too. That was why This One always got its souls first, why it was always ahead of the pack.

It scrambled this way up the stairs to the castle, and heard as the smell grew stronger. Metal, clanking, something running. Two somethings. If the Dregling had been conscious it would have understood that this was a bad sign. It would have been capable of realizing that two full armored knights with sharpened weapons were not a good match for itself; half naked and wielding a broken blade.

But even its own thoughts of self-preservation were buried. Far too deep.

The Dregling put itself up against a stone wall. It heard the metal clanking slow and come to a stop on the other side. Instinct alone compelled it to wait. An opportunity for ambush would come soon.

On that other side of the wall, voices spoke up. Two. A younger one with the courtly tone of nobility, and an older one with the rough accent of a warrior.

"Milord, I-" The older voice began.

The young one interrupted, "Don't call me that, Biorr. There may be curious ears nearby."

"I'm not seeing the point of the secrecy, lad."

"There are Demons here capable of conscious thought, Biorr. Demons who can know and remember things. Until we find my father, we aren't safe spreading my name around. I'm this kingdom's last hope. They'll know that, too."

"Whatever ye say. Regardless, Lord...uh...Ostrava was it? Regardless Lord Ostrava, I'm not as young as I was, anymore. If ye want me to keep up with ye, we gotta rest."

"You always want to rest, Biorr."

"You wanna try wearin me armor for fifteen seconds?"

"...Point taken. Fine. We'll rest. But we need to move quickly. If my father is still alive, he's in trouble."

The Dregling heard the word rest and recognized it, perhaps not on a conscious level, but on a strong enough one that it understood its targets would be vulnerable. It looked for suitable grips in the wall, and when it found them, it began to scale it, doing its best to remain silent.

"I still don't understand why yer so sure yer daddy's alright," the old voice said, accompanied by a powerful clanking. Its owner was sitting down.

"I'm not, Biorr. But look at it this way: if there's someone who is still alive, it's him. Kings have access to the kind of resources that commoners don't. Also, kings are valuable, and if they saw fit to imprison you rather than killing you outright, I've no doubt they've done the same for him."

The Dregling reached the top of the wall and looked over. It saw two knights, sitting. One thinner, but with seemingly impenetrable armor, and the other tall and broad, with armor just as impenetrable...but what appeared to be layers of it.

"That damned jailer," the man in the layers of armor grumbled. "Those ministers got the jump on me while I was sleepin. Thanks for that lad, by the way. I don't remember if I properly gave gratitude."

"No thanks are necessary," the thinner Knight said. "Why would I have ever left you there? From the moment I saw you imprisoned, it's not like I had a choice. Thank god, instead, that I found you."

"I have the feelin that the almighty doesn't deserve our thanks, at the moment," Biorr said. "After all, look at what's happened to your king-whoa!"

The Dregling jumped down on top of the armored man, its feet landing perfectly on his shoulders. Without losing a moment it swung its blade. Again, and again, and again.

Die die die! Souls souls souls!

It didn't even pay enough attention to realize that the blade didn't leave a scratch. That its flabby and rotting muscles couldn't even give enough force for the body within to feel it. Finally, the rusty remains of its sword shattered against the armor, and it began biting and scratching.

The figure it had jumped on stood up, and cocked his head to look at it.

"Isn't that cute, lad? He thinks he can hurt me."

On top of the moving figure, the Dregling lost its footing and tumbled. It scratched to stay on, before finally managing to bite into his arm. It held like a rabid pit bull, growling as it continued to claw its adversary.

"Don't ridicule it, Biorr. This was one of my subjects, once. Even if it isn't a threat, it's still a tragedy."

"Whatever ye say, lad...but in that case, ye wanna do the honors?"

"They aren't honors, but...yes."

The Dregling squirmed as its enemy threw it off. It hit the ground with a thud, and tried as hard as it could to right itself in time.

But it felt the sword through its chest before it was on its feet.

It looked down at the pure steel, so much sharper and harder than its own, then looked up into the beaver-covered face just above. It gasped, and a bubble of blood rose from its throat and popped.

"I'm sorry," the knight above it said. "I hope that, in whatever's next, you come to yourself again."

It scratched. It clawed. It fought for souls even as it could no longer breathe. But the face did not turn from it, did not waver, did not even move. Its final sight was that steel, as its vision faded away into darkness.

"Keep up, Biorr."

"Do ye even remember our last conversation, lad?"

"We've been running fifteen minutes."

"Exactly."

Ostrava of Boletaria sighed, but did not slow. They didn't have time. It could even be said that they were already out of time. The kingdom was overrun, and as far as he could tell, there were no survivors.

He envied Biorr. He didn't know what it was that allowed his companion to distance himself. Perhaps he had fought so many battles that he'd learned to take horrific events as a matter of course, perhaps he, as a knight, had learned not to think about the larger implications of what was going on around him.

Regardless, it was a trait that Ostrava did not share.

The only reason he could look at the Demons as he fought them was because if he didn't, he'd die in an instant. After they died, however, and he gazed at their fallen, mutated bodies, he felt sick. Demons were not aliens, they were corruptions of men and women of his country, or of plants or animals or even inanimate objects once present within it.

In the moments when he contemplated this, he looked at Biorr, and felt weak.

"Slow yerself down, lad," the big man roared.

"Biorr, we can't rest again," Ostrava said without looking back.

"No, I mean it this time. Slow down. Listen."

Ostrava's feet ground to a stop, and as the clanking of his own armor silenced, he heard it. Powerful whooshes of air being kicked through the sky.

"It sounds like a giant bird," he said.

Biorr shook his head, "that's no bird."

As if on cue, what answered was a ghastly cry, so powerful and horrific that it sounded like an army of beasts crying at once. Ostrava turned, and saw it sitting there, perched on the wall they had just passed through: a massive red dragon. Its eyes seemed to burn as it glared down at them. Its mouth opened, sucking in the air around it.

"I think we should start running again," Biorr said.

Ostrava said nothing, but turned, and sprinted as much as his plated legs would allow. The earth rumbled as, behind him, the Dragon's roar erupted again. This time, however, it transformed into the scream of an inferno halfway through. He didn't see the fire, but he saw the bright reflection of orange light in front of him, and he felt the heat of it through his armor.

"Keep running, lad."

They took off past the wall, and over the great bridge, stumbling as they tried to avoid overturned carts and dead horses. Ostrava's stomach clenched. Refugees. Near the end, refugees had lined up along this bridge, trying to reach the town within the inner walls. But there were too many. The nobles never would have been able to let them in. So they died here, after coming from all throughout the kingdom, begging for entry, for safety.

But he couldn't think of that now. There was a dragon behind him.

"Biorr, are you keeping up?"

"There's something about a colossal dragon behind ye that gives yer feet wings, lad."

"Good to hear."

Behind them, he heard the dragon take off, it's wings sending gusts that almost knocked him over. It soared along the bridge, and he heard the roar of its fire scorching the remains of his subjects. In front of them was an open doorway into a tower a checkpoint along the road, their only hope.

"Go! Go!" He screamed over the flames, and again felt their heat against them before they were suddenly blocked off by a ceiling above. They'd made it to the tower.

"Bloody hell," Biorr cursed.

"We're not done, yet," said Ostrava.

They both looked up to see the rest of the bridge winding on, up to the castle proper.

They rushed through the final set of gates, and realized, to their dismay, that there was no roof. The courtyard was open.

"I can't keep this up, lad," Biorr said, panting.

"Neither can I...I can't believe how persistent that thing is," Ostrava said.

"It's a demon, lad."

And they both knew the truth in that. Demons would go to any length for a human soul. It was just the way they operated.

"What's that sword doin there?" Biorr said, pointing to a upright sword jabbed, blade-first, into a few stones. A strange blue glow surrounded it.

"I'm not sure...magic?"

"Why would any sorcerer cast a spell, then up and leave it there?"

They heard the wingbeats again.

"No time! Keep running!" Ostrava said.

And they did, but it was no use. This time, the next shelter was too far: all the way across the massive courtyard without any break. The fire came behind them, and it was gaining too fast. Without thinking, Ostrava grabbed Biorr and jumped away.

Or tried to. His feet barely left the ground under the weight of his armor. He fell, and they rolled. The fire missed by inches. He saw the scorched trail it had left behind, right next to his head.

They stood up more clumsily than they had fallen, and by then the dragon was coming around again.

"We can make it this time, Biorr," Ostrava said, making sure that all his plates were in place.

"...Lad, ye sure we want to?"

"What do you-" Ostrava answered his own question as he looked up.

They came from the opposite gate like a small army. Knights in black armor wielding massive weapons. It was clear to even look at them that they had no discipline, but they moved together, regardless. Ostrava didn't count them. He couldn't. What mattered was that they were many. Too many.

"It's been an honor fighting with ye," Biorr said.

Ostrava turned back to Biorr and looked at him. The knight's face was hidden by his beaver, but his resignation was clear from his posture.

"No," Ostrava said. "For the sake of this kingdom, I can't die. And if you're with me, you won't, either."

"Then ideas would be nice, lad."

Ostrava turned back, the dragon was flying toward them from one side, he heard its wings beat as it glided down, the knights were coming from the other, and he saw them readying a charge.

In the center that blue sword protruded, with its strange glow.

"When all else fails: magic," Ostrava said, then charged.

Biorr took off after him.

Perhaps in response to their running, the black knights took off, as well. Ostrava could make out gross perversions of human faces on the fronts of their helmets. They raised their spears and rushed. If they reached them, Ostrava knew they would be shredded. Still, he ran full force in their direction.

Behind them, the dragon roared again, and he felt the heat. The fire ran up the courtyard again. The time came and went for them to duck out of the way. This time, they wouldn't be able to avoid it.

And in front of them rested the sword. Ostrava didn't know what he would do when he got there. He'd pull it out. He'd fight with it. It would have some sort of power, it had to. Then he was there. He was there and he was about to touch it. His arm came out and grasped the handle just as one of the spears was about to punch through his plates, just as the dragonfire was about to cook him inside of his armor as if it were an iron pan.

And then he wasn't there.

The Maiden in black finished lighting the candles for the third time in the last few hours.

Usually, by the time she finished, one of the ones near the bottom would be extinguished. Most would be frustrated by this. She accepted it as a matter of course.

But this time, as she carefully tapped her rod down each stair, her hand feeling the wall for its familiar knicks and ridges, she heard something much different.

In the center of the Nexus, two screaming figures suddenly burst into existence. There was a pause, and then a vicious clank, presumably as they hit the ground.

It was followed by a pained groaning from both of them.

The Maiden In Black considered, for a moment, then returned to her duties.

"Lad, am I on top of ye, or are ye on top of me?"

"I don't know...but...we're alive. Biorr, Biorrr, we're alive! We're alive!"

He laughed almost maniacally, and heard his laughs echo throughout whatever vacant room they now found themselves in. It was clearly indoors. There was no wind, and it was stuffy. Surrounding them was nothing more or less than absolute silence.

"Okay, I realized that I'm on top of ye, now. Sorry."

"It's no problem...just, just get up, Biorr."

"Right, right," the big man said, and again he clumsily pulled himself to his feet. Ostrava got up from under him.

Beneath them was a strange, almost glass-like black surface, with symbols dancing along it, and surrounding them were spirals of stairs with lit candles around them. Columns held up the massive room, far taller than it was long, and there were no doors, either to enter or exit. Instead, stone faces stared at the knights. Six of them. Five were still clear, and glared with a gaze that somehow seemed alive, and the sixth was tarnished beyond all recognition.

"Wait...I know this place," said Ostrava. "This is the Nexus. Back...before...mages would use this place to travel quickly throughout the kingdom. It's connected to everywhere else, through a network of teleportation."

And as he looked around, he spotted her, using her rod to light a candle, a young, slight girl. Her back was turned to him and he could make out her long black hair blending into her dark robes.

"You, girl," Ostrava said. "This is the Nexus, correct?"

She turned, and both men gasped when they saw her face.

She had obviously been very beautiful once, perhaps in a very different time, but her eyes were covered, she was rendered sightless by wax.

Her mouth opened, but she said nothing, and then turned away again, carefully lighting the candle she had been paying attention to.

"A blind candle-maiden..." murmured Biorr. "Irony."

"Not just blind. Someone did this to her...I wonder if it was the mages...some of them have always had a penchant for cruelty."

"This place is older than your mages," another voice said.

Ostrava's gaze went down the stairs, and he saw the figure sitting there, not so far from the Maiden. He didn't know how he hadn't seen the man, but at the same time he didn't know how he would have noticed him. The figure was so still that it may as well have been a statue. It blended into the lifelessness of the environment around it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," Ostrava said. "I am Ostrava of Boletaria."

The figure didn't move, and didn't say anything.

"Biorr of the Twin Fangs, pleased to meet ye," Biorr said. He moved closer, and offered up his hand.

The figured looked down at the hand, then back up at Biorr. He did nothing else. Biorr chuckled awkwardly, and backed away.

Ostrava analyzed the figure. He was wearing armor, much like Ostrava's own. However, it was nicked and cut and virtually destroyed in some places. It would no longer function in combat. He looked as though he had once been a knight, but was now ragged, deteriorated in body and, though it was harder to spot, in soul.

"Your companion...what happened to her eyes?" Ostrava asked.

"I don't know," the figure said. "Whatever it was, I'm sure she deserved it."

Ostrava saw the woman visibly jolt, as if struck.

"What did you just say?" Biorr said, a faint anger rising.

"I didn't say much," said the figure. "I implied that she's a filthy cretin...no, too polite...she's a cunt, and if her eyes were poured over by hot, burning wax, it was too kind for her."

Biorr shoved Ostrava out of the way and stepped forward, "A man of arms shed never speak that way of a lady! Why I should-"

But he was silenced.

The blind woman had run over, almost falling in her clumsy, sightless movement, and placed herself between Biorr and the figure he was threatening, her arms widened as if to guard him. Again, the man gave no response. He just stared.

Ostrava watched Biorr relax. The maiden's arms went down. She stood up, almost falling again, and Biorr reached out as if to catch her...but she managed to make it to her feet. She walked over to her discarded rod, lit it on a candle, and returned to her business.

"Pathetic, isn't she?" the figure said, without looking back at her. "She helps me even as I tear at her, even as I curse everything about her and tell her how I would kill her...kill myself...if I only could. Sometimes I feel sorry for her. Usually I don't. I don't even feel sorry for myself anymore. The world rotates, and with every second more lives are lost. More people suffer. What distinguishes my concerns from the whole? What distinguishes any of us...I...I don't think anything does."

There was a silence. Neither Ostrava nor Biorr knew how to respond.

"I don't think I'm allowed to consider myself important. Am I?"

More silence.

"I...I didn't get your name," Ostrava managed to stammer out.

"I had one, once," the figure said. "But...no. No longer. No longer..."

They looked at him, as he cradled his head in his hands, and Ostrava heard faint sobs, mixing in with his weary voice, repeating it as if it were a mantra.

"No longer...no longer..."

Yes, I put a quote from classic literature in a fanfic. Why? Because I can.

You didn't think I wouldn't make good on my promise to continue this, did you?