Alice had almost jumped back in disgust as the body of a goblin her Gate had cut in half flopped towards her. Hieronymous and Potsdam had not even seemed to notice it, jumping through the opening. Hafiz half-heartedly flicked it back into Otherworld, monitoring to make sure nothing made it in while taking potshots at any e considered 'too close.' At another time she might have cared that she was standing barefoot in blood and gore, but now….

Now she was doing all she could to keep the Portal open while keeping an eye on the events in Otherworld. Right now, she was witnessing the full fury of a Red mage. It was not as simple as carving a path towards her sister, picking her up, and then running back. There were continuous waves of goblins, and she knew from her studies that such mobs tended to act as one, whether they were fighting or fleeing. If you wanted to get rid of a mob, you had to make them terrified of you.

Her husband was in front weaving fire as bright as the sun that seemed to melt everything it touched, and tendrils that whirled cutting anything in their way into shreds. Potsdam swept his work to either side, vines covering the hills he was making with the bodies of the dying and the dead goblins. The vines also grabbed the bodies of the living that tried to make it over, entangling them along with the dead. As she went, she made stationary sigils that gave off waves of Fear the closer one came to them, which were probably amplified by the screams and moans of the caught or dying goblins. It occurred to Alice that the generalized weave might affect the humans as much as they did the goblins, unless they mentally shielded themselves.

"Alice! Are they getting her?" she heard Clark gasp.

Alice turned briefly to see her brother in his pajamas standing in the doorway, breathing heavily. She guessed that he had had to run the entire way, as he probably did not know this room well enough to Teleport here as she had. "Yes, if you want to help, lend me some strength so I can keep this thing open." In truth, she could feel it just starting to wobble a little. As they were not halfway there yet and the shaman had apparently abandoned fighting Asim to deal with her husband, she had to redouble her efforts to keep the Gate open.

Clark opened his magic to her immediately, and she was able to stabilize the Gate. His presence also calmed her a little, making it easier to maintain the White magic that flowed through her.

For now, Alice had to trust that Hieronymous would make it in time while she literally held the escape route open. Her confidence in her husband was the only thing that kept her calm enough to maintain a White weave of this strength.

...

Hieronymous' back was stinging, and his pajama shirt was plastered to him with something warm and wet. Only some of it was his own blood. The shaman had been particularly powerful, but now lie dead at his feet and the goblins were beginning to break. At the moment, the cost of his victory was immaterial. It was a wound that would heal. What he knew he could not stand was if he managed to fail Alice the way he had failed Violet. Even if it was not fatal to Alice herself, he would still lose her. She would not forgive him; the light that was in her eyes when she looked at him would dim. She would still be bound to him for life, but the only way to make her happy again would be for him to find something even greater to make up for his failure, or to die to allow her to find someone worthy of her.

Each step in goblin blood brought him closer to the blue dome that held his target, a small child shielded by the family guardian. To have lasted as long as e had, e must be superior in more ways than one to his own manus.

Violet!

Hieronymous shook his head, concentrating on the situation at hand as flame protruded from his wand toward the last group of goblins in his way. Their heavy hammers and broadswords would only hurt him if they were still alive to hold them. These were the largest and strongest yet, as they had pushed their lesser brethren out of the way in anticipation of a feast.

The shaman had broken his wand and appeared to be toying with him by deflecting his spells with apparent ease. Having no other choice, he continued to fight towards his love. Violet was on the ground behind the shaman, her white hair matted with blood from her injury. Unlike him, fighting unconsciousness was all she could do, trying to stay death with her own magic. He knew that it did not matter, though. Their end came swiftly, and was the same.

How he hated these creatures.

He deflected what would have been a crushing blow from the hammer, splitting his foe into halves that continued to burn as he stepped through them. This would have been easier had the activity above not prevented additional Gates…but then, if it had not been occurring, those spirits might have already devoured the child's soul. While lesser beings digested and then expelled the souls of others, allowing the souls passage into the Light, some of the more powerful beings continued to contain them until their own destruction.

The shaman held him upside down in the air as if handling a ragdoll. It barked an order, and stepped aside, watching him with sadistic fascination, as four goblins took hold of a limb each, and another took hold of Violet's head.

"Hieronymous!" she screamed, just before each goblin pulled.

He could not watch; he could not tear his eyes away as the love of his life was literally torn limb from limb, and the shaman that was holding him inhaled her life-energy. It smiled richly, as if satisfied by a tasty treat.

"VIOLET!"

He was finally at his target, and the small figure in the dome stirred, getting up and saying something he could not hear to her protector. The dome pulled away to form a manus, and in its wake was…it could not be.

"Violet?" he said as he knelt, stunned, unable to help himself. He did not remember seeing Alice's youngest sister when he was at her house, but the girl….

This girl looked like Violet in miniature. Her eyes were the same shade of blue, her pale skin flawless, long white-blond tresses flowed down her back.

"Nancy," the girl corrected, wrapping her arms around his neck as if she held on for dear life.

The pressure on the highest of his wounds jolted him back to his senses. He had the girl, he had to get her out.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he told her, and Nancy immediately complied. He paused only briefly, holding her with his left arm as he made his way back towards the Gate with the manus automatically following to guard their backs.

Most of Petunia's work was done, his pathway clear. As they neared, she dismissed the Fear sigils, clearly sensing that most of his manna had been spent and he did not have the clarity of focus necessary to avoid their effects.

The Gateway appeared to be shaking as they approached, but stabilized in what he suspected was one last hurrah from his wife. He was impressed that she had just been taught the spell, and had been able to keep it open this long. Potsdam dashed through, and the Gate finished stabilizing. He came next with the manus following before the Gate abruptly snapped shut.

He finally allowed himself a sigh of relief as the child cried, "Sissy!" and launched herself out of his arms toward his wife.

Alice was weeping in relief as she clutched her sister, the end of her nightgown and her feet red with blood that had somehow found itself to his floor. The child also wept as she had not before, finally acknowledging the fear she must have pushed back in order to contact her sister in the first place.

He thought that his wife had never looked more beautiful than she did right now.

Abruptly, he noticed Clark was here too, not crying but still with his arms around both sisters, ruffling Nancy's hair as if to convince himself that she was really there. Hieronymous assumed that he had arrived in time to help with the Gate. Granted the raw power of even one of the more advanced freshman was not especially significant, but it would have been an even greater strain for her to maintain that Gate by herself.

Petunia allowed this to go on for about half a minute before placing a hand on Nancy and weaving Green magic. "She does not have a scratch on her," she said, both satisfaction and relief almost palpable in her voice. She then turned her attention to him, and he did not bother to attempt to escape her hand.

"Burning windsickles to the back," he told her simply, and she nodded before double-checking to make sure there were no injuries that he was unaware of.

It was not a side of his employer that students normally saw, but when presented with serious situations like this, Petunia was as commanding as any general. Clark, as the only one of them that was not blood-spattered, was sent to her room to retrieve her medicinal kit to treat the wounds on his back, and extra towels for cleaning up.

He sat down on his bed, exhausted and just starting to realize how much his back was stinging, and looked up to see Alice's face next to his. "Thank you Hieronymous," she said before kissing him as thoroughly as he had ever been kissed.

The child was still squeezing her sister's hand tightly, and turned to look up at him with her eyes still wide from the ordeal. "Thank you Mr. 'Ominous Grabber," Nancy said, obviously unable to pronounce his name correctly given that the child was deathly serious. He thought he heard his wife trying to choke back a laugh.

He smiled at the miniature version of the woman he had failed, held by the woman that he had not. "You are welcome."