The Forsaken

STAIRWAY TO HELL

FLOOR ONE

Light illuminates the silent, pale halls inside the Black Tower. Entering their feet step into shallow water. Somewhere close, they hear the sounds of footsteps on the water.

The party readies their weapons. Waiting to see if they have been discovered. Suddenly, a masked man appears in front of them. Wearing a white expressionless mask, decomposing clothes, carrying a bucket, and looking with two lifeless eyes.

“Don’t make a move!” Tyr threatens the masked man.

Not batting an eye at the intruders, he continues his routine as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Moving forward.

Tyr makes a step toward the masked man with his drawn sword as Shaphas grabs his shoulder.

“Wait! There is something unusual here,” Shaphas says, observing the masked man.

“What?” Tyr asks in confusion.

“He is unarmed,” Noname adds.

The masked man continues walking with his glance looking through them, looking nowhere. Approaching the way they came from, he empties the bucket containing human waste. Without a thought or word, he continues.

“Can he not see us?” Tyr asks perplexed by this weird encounter.

“Who knows? Let’s follow,” Shaphas adds as they follow.

The monotonous hallways look devoid of life; all the same and indistinguishable. They notice similar masked men and women aimlessly wondering. Cleaning, carrying various things, or gazing nowhere with dead lifeless eyes behind the white masks.

“Excuse me,” Tyr asks approaching a masked woman. There is no response.

Noname approaches a masked woman who is staring at a wall.

“Hello?” Noname asks. Still no response.

She kicks her, making her fall to the ground. The masked woman rises and resumes her original position and an emotionless stare.

“Don’t do that,” Ulric adds.

“Why not?” Noname asks.

“Wake not a sleeping lion,” Ulric quickly responds.

“They ain’t sleeping or lions,” Noname says grunting.

Wondering aimlessly, the thoughts of futility swell in their minds.

Why are we here? What will any of this accomplish?

Whispers of questions and doubt wander through their minds. They feel as if the distance between them has grown.

Shaphas questions his path, he questions Aion. Is this Aion’s justice? You follow the teaching of those that wronged you?

Do I believe, Shaphas wonders?

Tyr wonders, why is he here? He hates battles, but why does he always end up fighting? Why did I follow Patrick in his foolish so-called quest, why did I continue walking this path after his death? Did I not learn anything from the tragedy of my past? I want to be alone, but why am I searching for companionship? Why am I so desperate?

Ridiculous and full of contradiction, Tyr concludes.

Noname reflects on her past. She always strived for surviving one more day so why is she here risking her life for revenge? If I succeed, it will not bring Harry back to life. Would Harry want me to be risking my life, would he do the same if I was the one that died? Her right eye twitches as her finger flips.

“Lunch of worms!” Noname blurts out with her ticks ticking.

Ulric remembers the day his family died, the day his sister Everose died. He remembers the voice he heard before he took revenge. Are you the Moon? Was it the Moon, Ulric thinks?

Melione’s companions were always One and Two. One has vanished, and the other is... different. She thinks back on the words of the half-half woman in the Pale Forest. Always follow your nose is her motto. But what if she isn’t following her nose? Is she deceived, Melione wonders?

No! Shaphas shakes his head.

“My faith is strong! I shall not be led astray by this evil place. We must purge the evil in fire and forgiveness. In the name of Aion,” Shaphas says steadying himself.

“Don’t think now, Tyr. Don’t think! Do what your heart tells you,” Tyr says to himself. He was always more a man of action. Don’t hesitate! He remembers those old words.

Noname calms her ticks.

“I am Noname! I do wat I want. I am free,” Noname says to herself.

I will get revenge for it is what I want, Noname thinks.

Ulric violently shakes his body.

“I cannot be wrong! I must not be! For if I am my life is a lie and that I shall not accept,” Ulric says regaining focus.

Melione stops in her tracks.

“Stop!” Melione says as the doubts creep around.

“STOP!” Melione commands as the air itself trembles. This is her way.

Suddenly, the doubts vanish revealing a stairway leading up.

“This place is evil,” Shaphas says.

“For once we agree,” Ulric adds.

“Let’s go,” Tyr says as the party moves on leaving their doubts behind.

FLOOR TWO

The dim red glow reflects from the icy stone walls as the sound of gentle woodwind music echoes all around- accompanied by a symphony of pleasure. In front of them stands a vast open hall filled with cushions and blankets; on those, lie scantily dressed and/or nude youthful men and women. Their bodies intertwined in the desires of the flesh. Focused and immersed.

“In the name of Aion! What is this?” Shaphas asks, looking displeased.

“It is just some men and women having fun,” Tyr adds, shrugging at the entire scene.

“Those are not some men and women,” Ulric adds with a panicked look.

The party unconsciously takes another look, noticing a crucial detail they missed. White hair and pale skin! The same appearance of the so-called mystics they faced before.

Tyr grips his sword as he remembers how dangerous they are; so far, they remain unnoticed as the mystics are preoccupied with each other, paying no attention to anything else.

“Quickly,” Noname says holding a couple of robes. They quickly put them on to hide their appearance.

“Where did you find them?” Ulric asks as Noname gazes over the entire hall. Indeed, there is no place where you couldn’t find them as they lie scattered everywhere except on the bodies of the mystics.

The four of them put on the robes except for Melione who walks forward.

“Melione!” Tyr softly yells afraid she will reveal them.

“It is fine,” Ulric adds as he nods in front of him. It doesn’t take long for them to realize the most obvious of truths; she looks like the mystic.

They walk through the naked bodies of the white-haired women and men; slowly and carefully. Passing through them, hundreds of hands caress them as they try to pull them down to where the pleasure lies. Shaphas walks around trying to hide his disgust as Tyr, Noname, and Ulric struggle to move on. Melione, in front, is the only one that moves unhinged by the entire situation. This is her way. The moans intensify and the number of arms grows calling to temptation.

Spending most of his life in the outdoors, living the life of a hermit, took its toll.

Why not enjoy this pleasure, Ulric thinks?

Noname was always one for comfort and living in the moment. This is her way of life. Why not take the paltry things that are offered? There may not come a second chance.

The loneliness of his solitary life was hard for him. It was long since he felt a warm embrace of another human, the embrace of love.

This is not love, but it is the closest thing out there, Tyr thinks.

Maybe for a moment?

Shaphas glances at two men as the memories of his past come rushing in; he shakes and quivers trying to stay on his legs. Tyr, Ulric and Noname slowly wander off as Shaphas loses his ground. Suddenly, Melione appears with a gentle touch. With a simple tap on the shoulder, they return to their senses. They move as the stairs up lie in sight.

Four of them enter the stairway as Melione stands at the end; before proceeding forward a white-haired mystic woman grabs her by the arm.

“Will you not stay and have some fun?” the mystic asks in an eerie voice.

Noname rushes grabbing Melione and kissing her intensely.

Another mystic comes grabbing the mystic woman as she gladly allows for this.

“Go now,” Noname says seeing an opportunity as the mystics lie preoccupied.

Some distance away they take a breather on the stairs.

“That was some quick thinking,” Tyr adds.

“Didn’t it bother you to kiss another woman?” Shaphas asks.

“Why? All the same,” Noname responds shrugging.

“The same?” Shaphas asks.

“Lips are lips and body is body. Some softer than the other though,” Noname responds unhinged. They continue their way leaving their desires behind.

FLOOR THREE

Arriving on the next floor they stand behind a closed gate; their mouths water as a pleasant smell reaches their noses. They open it. The smell intensifies. In front of them, another enormous hall with long wooden tables and on the tables a feast of food and drinks. The freshly baked meat with side dishes of fruit and vegetables glow brightly; the smell of sweet wine and spirits cover the air. Tyr takes an imaginary bite as his body hungers. The tables are filled with mystics who, like the previous ones, are unnaturally focused on the delicacies.

“Should we?” Tyr asks turning to the other party members.

“And risk getting killed?” Noname angrily responds as taking a deep sniff; she turns to glance at the tables. There are sweats, she notices.

“Well?” Noname adds, thinking.

“I am hungry,” Ulric says.

“This is no time for this,” Shaphas responds. They know he is right, but... maybe one bite? No one will notice, will they?

They walk through the giant hall trying to not look at the vibrantly cooked meat with fruits and vegetables; Ulric looks.

Trying to not smell the sweet scent of the red wine; Tyr doesn’t resist.

The savage chewing noise intensifies as the almost possessed mystics plow through what is available. Most of all the chocolates and cakes;

Noname looks.

Melione wanders off, without thought, as she goes to sit at one table; Shaphas quickly grabs her.

“We must go,” Shaphas whispers.

“Go?” Melione asks.

“The one we are looking for is here,” Shaphas says.

Tyr grabs a bottle of wine as a mystic grabs his hand. The party stops as Tyr grips his sword. Not paying any attention the mystic releases his hand as he goes for a nearby cub of corn, making the party sigh in relief.

He got the wine and a couple of judgmental looks. It doesn’t matter, for a bottle of wine is a bottle of wine. Good enough.

They pass through the hall as they make their way up.

“You fool!” Ulric yells as Shaphas shakes his head.

“Whatever,” Tyr says, taking a big chug of the wine. The journey continues.

Noname stands at the back waiting for everyone to make a little distance. The coast is clear. She takes out two biscuits and gobbles them. What she wants, she takes. Ulric notices her as a slightly awkward pause appears; he takes out a piece of meat and eats it. There is no need for words. They continue leaving drinks and food behind... most of them.

FLOOR FOUR

Here lies a great golden door ornamented with jewels in the shape of two intertwined dragons.

“It is locked!” Tyr says trying to open it.

“Move aside,” Noname adds approaching the door with a smirk.

Drawing out her lock pick set, she gets to work. With a few moves here and there, she steps back.

“Did you unlock it?” Ulric asks.

“Are nobles stinky?” Noname asks.

“No?” Ulric answers, unsure of the question.

Noname thinks for a moment. They are stinky, but do they stink? She does not know.

“It is unlocked,” Noname answers at her moment of thieving triumph.

The first glance of this floor is denied by a blinding light. It takes a while to adjust their eyes. Hoarded gold, silver, precious jewels lie scattered on the ground; various rooms filled with many more. In some, entry is barred from the stockpiled treasures.

“Is dis heaven?” Noname blurts out running to the nearest gold as she unconsciously grabs it. There is no room in her bag and pockets as the gold sips out.

“What are you doing?” Shaphas angrily asks.

“Wat it look like? Taking gold,” Noname responds by filling her pockets.

“We don’t have time for this!” Ulric yells.

“This could buy all the drinks in the world,” Tyr adds, gleaming over it.

“Are you two serious?” Shaphas adds, visibly annoyed as the party argues.

Melione walks away drawn to a silver necklace; she remembers.

When she was a young girl, she wanted her parents to buy one like this from a traveling merchant but they didn’t for it was too expensive. She can take it now. It is close. Her hand moves towards it as it stops.

She remembers the words she was told that quenched her tantrum.

“There is only one wealth in this world and that is love,” Melione says out loud as the party stops their bickering and looks at her with confusion.

“Love?” Noname repeats as she bursts out laughing.

“Listen here girl wealth can buy you everything,” Tyr says approaching her.

“Can I buy back the dead?” Melione genuinely asks, looking at him for an answer.

Tyr and Noname remember the ones that died as their expressions turn from a smile to a sour look.

“Let’s go,” Tyr adds.

“Ya,” Noname concurs.

Can it buy the dead, Melione thinks, looking at the back of her companions? They pass the gold, and silver as they head upwards.

FLOOR FIVE

The melody of the fifth floor sounds. Screams. Filled with fighting pits the mystics wail on each other as flesh bleeds and bones break. Their eyes focused on the battles as they wait for their turns; eyeing with a ferocious expression yet also a delightful one. Those that lose are taken out with their broken bodies as the soulless masked men attend to their injuries only to be sent back as soon as they can barely walk. There is no mercy, only combat.

“This is inhumane,” Shaphas adds as the party sneaks past them, avoiding standing out as much as possible. Each scream and bone crack draws their gaze draws, hard to ignore.

“Is it?” Tyr asks, hiding that this is a genuine question.

“No wonder they are unnatural,” Ulric adds.

“Come on! The sooner we finish this, the sooner we go home,” Noname adds.

Tyr remembers his youth, he remembers training for the Black Knights. It is similar. He once broke a young girl’s arms as the other children cheered from above. He can still see vividly see her expression and hear the scream she made. There was no choice. It was him or her.

I had no choice, Tyr thinks to himself! Did I?

Remembering the joy he felt for his victory, he felt immense pride. He did indeed; now shame.

Broken bodies, blood, and open wounds are an all-to-common sight here.

They hear another yell. Tyr turns to it as if fear gripped him, but it isn’t fear. No. He fears nothing, not anymore. Only shame.

They reach the next stairway drawing no attention. Too easy, they think. Almost as if those mystics are not living; focused on becoming less and less human until no trace of humanity remains.

Tyr drops for a moment as his legs fail him.

“Tyr, what is wrong?” Shaphas asks, rushing to him.

“It is nothing,” Tyr stands with a helping hand.

“Ya shouldn’t have drunk all dat,” Noname adds.

“The wine?” Ulric adds.

“Yeah. I guess I shouldn’t have,” Tyr says, moving along; his hand tightly gripping his sword.

FLOOR SIX

The dim glow of candle flames gently stands on the ever-encompassing darkness; emanating a slight warmth throughout the cold. Hymn’s in the dark chant deeply in an unknown language. They bring chills to the newcomer’s skin as strands of hair rise, electrified. The small lights illuminate an enormous statue of a man standing with a book in his right arm and a staff in his left. Candles on the statue and candles on the ground shine brightly.

Shaphas observes the blasphemy of the mystics worshiping a false deity. He cannot help but feel admiration for the beautiful sentiment, even though he knows this is an act of heretics. Beautiful and dark. What would Aion say to this simple act of betrayal? Would he forgive the fleeting emotion and the inability to control them in this situation or would he harshly judge such an act?

The motionless kneeling mystics remain inhumanly focused even here. There is no doubt in their eyes or their chants. Can he say the same for as strong as his faith is it is still not flawless? He feels something swelling inside him; is it admiration? No, it cannot be that.

I refuse to believe it, Shaphas thinks, clenching his fists.

“The darkness will help us to...” Ulric gently speaks as he gets cut off.

“Don’t!” Noname adds.

“Don’t?” Ulric asks.

“Do not jinx us,” Noname says glancing left and right.

Always do your best, for mistakes are too costly.

The party walks through the pathway of lit candles, treading carefully not to make too much sound or to step on one. Further ahead, on the candle road, more scenes of prayer unravel before them. Kneeling and chanting mystics in front of various idols under the candle lights in the darkness.

“This gives me the creeps,” Noname murmurs to herself.

“Some search for something greater to follow, for they have no path of their own,” Tyr answers.

Ulric and Shaphas throw a grin at him, but they do not speak. Silence is key. Melione looks around trying to think about herself, her journey, and her revenge... nothing comes to mind. The more she tries, the blanker her mind goes. No path of their own?

Do I have one, Melione thinks?

She takes a deep sniff around in hope her nose will lead her like it always has, but there is nothing. Follow your nose? What if there is no nose to follow? Ulric appears near her, grabbing her hand as he leads her forward. This isn’t so bad if nothing else, at least I have fun.

Having fun is good, Melione thinks. This is her way.

They reach the stairs for the upper floors as, suddenly, two mystics appear in front of them. The party stops. Paying no attention to them they haul a young, whimpering girl in chains. Body too broken to struggle or scream the only strength she has is to gently weep. They pass the party not paying attention to them; they sigh in relief. The path before them is clear but something keeps them from moving onwards.

Bringing the chained girl the two mystics put her on a table.

“This one has failed,” the female mystic says.

“She is not worthy,” the male mystic adds.

“Not worthy! Not worthy!” the other mystics repeat.

Back at the stairs, the party observes the spectacle.

“What is this?” Shaphas rhetorically asks.

“I think we should move,” Tyr adds.

“What will happen here?” Shaphas asks.

“Nuttin good,” Noname adds.

“Look!” Ulric says, pointing at them.

The mystics lie the girl on a ceremonial table as they tie her up; she tries a single struggle to break free but gives up.

“You have been given a great honor of being in the presence of God Boreas but you have failed,” the female mystic says.

“Please,” the young girl barely lets out her cry for mercy.

“Do not be afraid for you will still be allowed to contribute,” the male mystics says smiling at the girl.

“Please,” the young girl repeats, barely audible this time.

“Praise be Boreas!” the female mystic says.

“Praise be Boreas! For he is the way from mortality to immortality,” the kneeling mystics chant raising their hands in the air.

“Praise be Boreas,” the female mystic raises a dagger in the air.

“This is the time,” Shaphas asks.

“Let’s do it,” Ulric adds.

“Ya,” Noname adds.

“Quickly,” Tyr says.

Melione nods. They make eye contact with the little girl who spells P-L-E-A-S-E one more time. One last time.

The female mystic plunges the dagger in the girl’s heart as she takes one last breath; she dies. Blood pours from the wound as the mystics grab it and smear it on their faces. The stairway to the upper floor lies empty. They turn and proceed up, some with a heavy heart others less.

FLOOR SEVEN

Indistinguishable muffled noises cover the seventh room. Screams again or something else? Hard to say and impossible to ignore.

“Are they fighting?” Try asks, slightly annoyed.

“Who knows what these degenerates are up to. Always something, always vile,” Ulric adds, spitting on the floor.

“We’ve seen it all. What else is dere to look at?” Noname responds as the party stands behind another door.

“How long does this abomination go on for?” Shaphas asks, sighing as he puts his hand on the icy stone wall of the Black Tower.

“It looks as there is no end to this evil,” Ulric responds.

“Though some floors seem... somewhat enjoyable,” Noname says smirking.

“Treasure, food, drinks, sex... these things know how to entertain themselves. Don’t they?” Tyr adds.

Shaphas nods at the statement, not wanting to admit it out loud.

“Blind to what matters,” Melione blurts out, blankly staring.

“What?” Ulric asks turning to her; she remains motionless.

“Still, it is dangerous. We should not waste time,” Tyr adds, opening the door.

The opened door allows for a much clearer distinction of the previously muffled noise. These are not screams or battles. They are cries.

“Crying?” Shaphas asks in confusion.

The hallways lie filled with caged cells. Walking through, they quickly come to an understanding of what is happening. Trapped children with white hair. Broken flesh with chains around their feet and arms, blindfolds around their eyes, they lie motionless as tears flow down. Cries in the night.

“What in Aion’s name is this?” Shaphas loudly blurts out at the outrageous sight.

“I don’t believe dis,” Noname adds, putting a hand over her mouth as her stomach grows sick of the scene.

“I remember,” Tyr and Melione say at the same time as the party looks at them.

“Remember?” Shaphas asks.

“Remember wat?” Noname asks; no response.

“What is the point of torturing children like this?” Shaphas asks.

“Torture? Isn’t this training?” Melione asks, looking at the party.

“Melione?” Ulric asks, approaching her.

“Wat are ya talking bout’? No one trains like dis,” Noname says.

“This is like my training with Ekateh,” Melione says grabbing the prison bars looking at a bound child.

“Training? Ekateh?” Ulric blurts out.

“You experienced the same?” Tyr asks looking at her. He remembers his cruel training... it was like this but not as cruel.

She also experienced this, Tyr thinks looking at her?

“What are ya two talking bout’?” Noname asks.

“When I was young...” Melione says stopping mid-sentence.

“Tyr?” Shaphas asks; Tyr remains silent.

“I had no idea,” Ulric silently says. watching; nothing else to do but remain silent. The awkward silence gives pause to the party as questions stop. Maybe it is better to leave some things unsaid?

They move through the path between the prison cells as fresh sights of cruelty and violence unravel before their eyes. Holes in the ground; some silent, others filled with crying; the intense smell coming from them makes their stomachs turn. Hanging cages from the roof filled with the same victims as everywhere else.

“We have to move. Now!” Tyr says, trying to not look.

“This isn’t right,” Shaphas adds holding his heart with his right hand and making a sign of a mirrored upside-down seven with his left.

“Just a little more and we are there,” Ulric says, rallying his courage.

“How do you know?” Tyr yells.

“Because it has to be,” Ulric responds.

Moving further ahead, they see the four white-haired mystics. Hard to say if they are male or female as their youthful and androgenous appearance hides it; their cold-dead eyes hide their humanity. If there is anything left.

The torture changes form and method, but the victims remain the same; lost innocence... not lost but taken. They hasten their movements until reaching the next stairway.

“Finally,” Ulric says, sighing with relief.

“Wait,” Tyr says turning to his party members.

“Wat?” Noname asks.

One, two, three, four... one is missing. Melione is not here.

“Melione!” Ulric blurts out.

“Wat?” Noname asks, looking around.

Cold sweat runs through their foreheads as they realize before turning back; more cold sweat runs down as they look and realize that their assumption is correct.

Back near the four mystics, Melione stands next to a dying, and shivering child. She puts her hands on the child’s forehead as the child falls asleep uttering his last words... thank you.

The mystics look at her.

“What did you do?” a mystic says in anger.

“Wait! She is not one of us,” another mystic says.

Their eyes lighten as the possessed eyes open in an alert. They open for blood.

“Who are you?” a mystic asks grabbing Melione by the neck; ignoring their presence, she looks at the other children as tears flow through her eyes.

Suddenly, a bolt flies hitting one mystic in the head.

“Intruders!” another mystic yells.

Ulric shoots three bolts at the mystic; there is no blood. The bolts lie stuck in the mystics’ torso as though they hit cloth, not flesh and bone. Tyr plunges forwards with a flurry of blows slashing the same leaving only superficial cuts. Shaphas runs to another mystic, bashing her in the face with his mace; the mystic grabs the mace as she looks back at him with a bludgeoned face and a smile hidden in the blood. He tries to pull off the mace, but the grip is too strong. She raises her hand as Ulric appears, thrusting his sword in her chest, she creepily smiles grabbing his sword. The third mystic holding Melione by the neck squizzes tightly, making it hard for her to breathe. She does not struggle, only gazes in his eyes as looking through him.

“Are you in the darkness?” Melione asks, with a faint smile.

“Darkness? There is no darkness where there is Boreas. Die!” the mystic says as Melione’s body slowly freezes.

Tyr continues his exchange with the mystic relentlessly slashing; the mystic raises his hand, far away to hit the attacking warrior with the reach advantage of the blade. His instincts kick in as he reflexively dodges. Suddenly, the floor explodes in an invisible impact.

“What? Damn magic,” Tyr says, circling the mystic while keeping a distance.

The female mystic holding Shaphas’es mace and Ulric’s sword screams making them fly through the air and hit the ground. She closes the distance. The surrounding air distorts with another scream as the two men scream in pain. Blood pours from their eyes, nose, and ears. Frozen Melione falls to the ground, her body pale and blue; he walks to the others as she grabs him by the foot.

The mystic fighting Tyr attacks the air as Tyr quickly dodges; the same invisible impacts happen.

Noname appears behind the screaming female mystic as she rapidly stabs her in the back; the ambushed mystic screams sending Noname flying in the air. Shaphas and Ulric rise, weaponless, as they flank her and attack unarmed. The female mystic lets out screams that further distorts the air, making Ulric and Shaphas bleed. They hold the pain.

“Burn-man, moon-man,” Noname yells sliding a mace and a sword to them.

Holding the pain and enduring the blood, they pick the weapons as they attack her with all their might. Shaphas smashes her in the face again as Ulric stabs her in the chest; she grabs their weapons as she screams.

The two men fall to their knees, struggling to stay conscious. Noname rushes again with a frenzy of backstabs. The distortion in the air grows weaker as the Shaphas and Ulric rise and attack. Enduring an endless assault the female mystic falls and dies.

The shocked mystic looks at the hand that grabbed his leg. Melione looks up at him.

“Why do you not die?” the mystic asks as he goes to grab her; suddenly, he stops, releasing a scream of pain. Body shaking and bones breaking, he struggles to remain standing. His eyes turn red as blood flows from them, his breath is hard and his feet are heavy. He falls to the ground, body shaking; looking Melione straight in the eyes.

“Praise be Boreas,” the mystic says, dying with his eyes opened.

“I am death. I am death incarnate. Those who look at the eyes of death shall know eternal darkness,” Tyr chants as his movements become faster, sharper. He moves for the kill as the mystic attack with an invisible force. Tyr dodges once, twice, and three times before closing the distance. He slashes with relentless zeal as each strike digs deeper and deeper while avoiding his attacks; slashing the eyes of the mystic the now one-eyes mystic hits Tyr making him fly away. In the last second, he blocks with his sword. Tyr stands up, spitting out blood from his mouth.

The mystic looks at his dead brothers and sisters as he strolls back, staring at the party; they approach as suddenly they stop. Behind the mystic new ones appears. Five. No, another five appear. Quickly their numbers rise. They are coming.

“This is bad,” Tyr says, looking at them.

“Ya think?” Noname blurts out.

Melione walks towards them as Ulric grabs her by the shoulder.

“Let’s run,” Ulric says.

“Where?” Shaphas asks.

The mystics casually approach them.

“Run!” Ulric yells.

“Lunch of worms! Lunch of worms!” Noname blurts out as her right eye twitches and her finger flips.

The party runs to the stairway as they run up with all haste; behind them, the mystics follow. Running up the stairs, the mystics are catching up. Almost there, almost caught.

They reach another door. It’s locked.

“Wat now?” Noname yells.

“Open it, quickly,” Tyr urges as Noname gets to work. The rest stay as they await the approaching foes.

“A chokepoint,” Tyr adds, as the party rises with weapons in hand.

“Will it matter?” Shaphas asks steadily, griping his mace.

“No,” Tyr says, laughing.

“Wat is funny?” Noname asks.

“I have no idea,” Tyr says; Noname, Ulric, and Shaphas look at the laughing Tyr as they join in on the laughter.

“It was a pleasure knowing all of you,” Shaphas says.

“So, this is how we die?” Ulric says smirking.

“So it is,” Ulric adds, laughing.

“Here da bastards come,” Noname says as the mystics appear in front of them.

“Let’s take some of them with us,” Ulric says.

“Aye,” the party says in unison as they scream one ultimate battle cry.

Noname quickly lockpicks the gate as steps behind them draw louder and louder. She opens it as the party, backs pressed and pushing to the door, falls inside.

The mystics are in front! They are here. Suddenly, they stop staring at them but not moving forward.

“What?” Shaphas, Ulric, Noname, and Tyr blurt out in unison.

FLOOR EIGHT

“Wat da actual crap?” Noname blurts out gazing at the unusual situation.

Dozens of mystics stand at the floor's entrance not moving any further, only watching with red eyes exuding bloodlust. The battle-ready party observes them knowing how close they are to death, for if their enemies move only a single step they would surely be no match for such a force. Ulric slides one step as he stops, he moves another step being close to the white-haired mystics. Quickly, he closes the door as the party sighs in relief.

“I don’t understand. Why did they stop?” Shaphas asks what everyone is thinking.

“Maybe they are forbidden from entry?” Tyr adds, shrugging in confusion.

“Why? That makes no sense to stop when the enemy is so close,” Ulric says.

“Does anything in this place make much sense? You saw what was happening?” Tyr responds.

“Still... it is strange,” Ulric says, accepting the explanation.

“Who cares? Dey stop dintcha dey?” Noname says.

“What is this place?” Ulric asks, looking around.

The current floor is smaller than the others. It stands filled with paintings and books, perhaps a library? Tyr and Shaphas approach the middle where an enormous map of, what appears to be, the entire world lies on a table.

“What are these lands here?” Shaphas asks, looking at the map.

“There is Ferro, the Withering Lands up north... we have Hou to the west, Penelia to the east, and the Empire of Takesh to the south,” Tyr says pointing at the lands.

“I know that but the other 4 gigantic masses of land?” Shaphas adds, looking.

“I don’t know. Could this be the map of the entire world?” Tyr asks.

“How could it be? No one has explored so further away across the seas. Right?” Shaphas asks, thinking.

“To my knowledge but I cannot say,” Tyr says.

Noname sees a small shiny orb. Looking around if anyone can see her even in this uncalled situation as she steals it.

“I know her!” Melione blurts out, standing in front of a painting.

The party assembles at a large painting portraying 7 men and 6 women standing in a lifeless metallic room.

They look at the men and women in the picture; a full-armored man with a large sword, a smaller man with weird steel constructions sticking out of his body, a woman with long blond hair in a simple white dress, a man in a black cloak with long black hair, the half-half woman from the Pale Forest, another imposing man in a robe covered by pieces of armor holding a staff burning with blue flame, a pale white-haired man with pure white eyes without irises, a brown-haired woman holding a tome in a colorful dress, a bald man with a large necklace made of pure white pearls, two similar women one with crimson red hair and a thin blade, the other with shorter black-hair and a crown-like spear, another brutish large man with dirt all over his body and finally a mature woman with green hair and a confidant smile.

“This one! It is the woman from the forest!” Melione says pointing at the person in the painting.

“This looks like the statue we saw on the previous floor. It must be Boreas,” Tyr adds.

“How can it be?” Shaphas blurts out as his body quivers; he drops the mace to the ground.

“What is wrong?” Ulric asks, looking at the panicked man.

“This one looks like the spitting image of Aion,” Shaphas responds.

“Aion?” Tyr blurts out.

“How? We have... had a picture of the god, but they kept it in secret. Only the highest-ranking priests could see it,” Shaphas says.

“I’ve never seen such a clear painting. It looks as real as we do. How could someone make something like this?” Tyr asks.

“In da palace dere were many paintings but not real like dis,” Noname adds.

“What is the meaning of this?” Shaphas asks.

“Look! Dere are names here,” Noname adds pointing at the bottom of the picture.

On the bottom of the picture, they see some names; some worn out, hard to read but others clearer.

“From left to right, Marduk the Invincible, Lugh the Master Crafter, Ragana the Eternal, Arawan the Soulless, Janus the Dreamweaver...” Tyr reads as he gets cut off.

“That is the woman from the forest,” Melione says pointing at the half-half woman.

“You are saying she was the one that gave us those dreams?” Shaphas asks.

“Lugh!” Tyr blurts out.

“Wat ya screaming?” Noname asks as his loud yell surprised her.

“I remember. That name was written at the entrance of the ancient ruins,” Tyr says.

Ulric walks towards the picture.

“Aion the Purifier and next to him Boreas the Cold,” Ulric says continuing to read.

“Aion the Purifier,” Shaphas repeats as though his worst nightmare is realized. What it is or what does it all mean, he is not sure. Is his god a god or a lie?

“What does this mean?” Tyr asks.

“It means they are not gods,” Ulric says.

“Silence,” Shaphas yells, turning to him.

“Did I say something wrong?” Ulric asks with a smirk.

Shaphas does not respond.

“Wat are da others?” Noname asks in curiosity.

“Right. Morrigan the Keeper of Knowledge, Jizo the Transcendent, Ishtar the Bloodborn, Nanaya the Queen, Triglav the Earthbreaker and Hekate the Changer,” Tyr reads the rest of them.

“Hekate the Changer?” Melione says looking at the image of the mature tall, imposing woman.

“What is it?” Ulric adds.

“She is the one that trained me, the one that found me,” Melione says.

“One of them? What can this mean?” Ulric asks as panic appears on his face. If she was lead by someone does that mean the Moon... no, it cannot be, Ulric stops his thought. He gazes at the panicking and full-of-doubt Shaphas as he realizes that they may share more than he would want to.

Melione looks more and more at the picture of Hekate knowing full well that the image of Ekateh, a shriveled old woman, does not bear resemblance to the woman in the picture but she knows it to be her, she feels it.

Shaphas picks up a journal as he flips a random page and reads it.

“Lugh has left us. He went on a foolish escapade to create a home similar to our old one. In his own words, he has become... homesick. Is it even possible to replicate the greatness of our world in this filth? Foolish, but most of them are. They have lived out their lives with the species here for power or comfort, who can say? There is one thing the primitive people here are good for and that is nothing,” Shaphas reads as he flips to the first page.

“To keep from going crazy in this world I have started this journal. This is our 4th year here. We still cannot contact our home or repair our ship but I remain hopeful. The natives here are primitive but they have their limited uses as entertainment and a free labor force.

There were some issues with our appearance but Xel’ama Kuh-Sha has fixed that; it helps that we do not have to waste time in soiling our hands with the blood of lessers. Interestingly, she now goes by the name Hekate. This appears to be a newly developing custom. Few others have joined her in conforming our names to help the natives pronounce them. They called us monsters. Us? Learning their language is beneath most of us so... Morrigan (Science General Kul’ova Zin-Cha) has undertaken to teach these savages our tongue. For what possible reason I will never understand. End of report, Cryokeeper Kashon Tyrzinch,” Shaphas reads the first page.

“In this world? Ship? The natives here?” Tyr blurts out.

“Dis is madman writing, Noname adds.

“Why do you say?” Ulric asks.

“Dey say dey come to new world by ship. How could ship sail so far? Ya would die from starvation,” Noname says.

“That makes sense but they say they came from another world. Is it from those lands on the map? The unexplored ones?” Ulric asks.

“Wait! It is written they taught the primitives of this land their language,” Shaphas says.

“And?” Tyr asks.

“The language in these lands and others date back to almost a thousand years when the One Language was made to unify all the people,” Shaphas says.

“So what?” Tyr asks.

“Then how can I read this book?” Shaphas asks; the party scratches their heads as the answer eludes them or perhaps they want to elude it. If this is true then that would mean these “people” have lived for all that time and that is impossible.

“Maybe it is a joke?” Noname says.

“A joke?” Tyr asks.

“Ya know nothing bout funny books? So unedumacated,” Noname says with a proud smile.

“Read the last page,” Ulric says as Shaphas flips the pages.

“I am left alone. My once-comrades have either died... killed by their own or left me as they grew power-hungry being revered as gods. Gods of all things? I will never stop my attempt to return us home even if that means going against the will or the others. They will pay for the crimes of murder and I shall once again see the two stars rising back in my homeworld. I must...,” Shaphas reads.

“I don’t understand this,” Ulric says.

“We should move, this isn’t the time for this,” Tyr says.

Ulric looks at him and nods stripped of all confidence.

They move on to the last stairway as Shaphas takes the journal.

FLOOR NINE

The last steps of the Black Tower lie behind them. Their destination is here. Entering the top room, they are welcomed with a sight like no other. Weird metallic objects cover the entirety of the room. Pipes hanging from the walls emit cold steam, endless lights shine across the pristine steel as the starry sky above, weird noises intertwine with each other in this symphony of metal.

“In the name of Aion, what is this monstrosity?” Shaphas blurts out, shocked. His companions share his sentiment. Wide-open eyes and dropped jaws are the only words they can muster.

“Aion?” they hear a voice speak. Silent and menacing as if piercing through the air.

In front of them, a metallic chair turns around revealing a pale white-haired elderly man. Shriveled skin as if it has been sucked of all fluids. He sizes them up with lidless eyes. They can see weird metallic objects embedded into his skin sticking out from the torn black robes. The ancient man with a skeletal figure looks barely able to move yet there is a sort of dread hidden behind his lifeless visage. Dread and cold.

“Boreas!” Tyr yells as he raises his sword.

“Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” Noname blurts out as her right eye twitches and her finger flips.

“I haven’t heard my friend’s name in a long time,” Boreas says, coughing violently.

“You say Aion is your friend?” Shaphas asks, almost insulted.

“He is... no... he was. Sadly, he died. Killed by the traitors,” Boreas says.

“Lies!” Shaphas yells.

“Ka-ka-ka you lowly primitive dare accuse me of lying to you. As if I would stoop so low,” Boreas says as his voice becomes inhumanly loud for a moment. Then in the next, it subsides.

“Isn’t this a surprise? I haven’t had guests here for dozens of years ka-ka-ka,” Boreas laughs.

“You are the one,” Melione says, making a step forward.

“The one and only Lord of the Withering Lands,” Boreas says with a smile.

“You are the one that killed my parents,” Melione says as suddenly her body shakes.

“Possibly but possibly not. I’ve killed many through years and I am not in the habit of remembering lesser life forms,” Boreas says.

“You will remember us for the Moon has brought us here to kill you,” Ulric says, readying his crossbow.

“The Moon?” Boreas blurts out as he laughs uncontrollably; the laughter is stopped by sudden coughs.

Ulric prepares to shoot Boreas as he squeezes the trigger, Boreas raises his hand and Ulric’s crossbow explodes; the piece of wood where he carved the name of his sister Everose splits in two.

“Everose!” Ulric screams, shaking and trying to piece together the broken parts.

They watch the ancient pale man not daring to move yet still ready to fight. Chains of fear bind them in front of the monster hiding behind an elderly man’s visage.

“There is no reason to hurry. Tell me, assassins, who sent you? Indulge my curiosity,” Boreas asks.

The party remains silent, looking at each other. Not quite sure about the question posed to them.

“Do you even know or are you mere puppets? Well, it is easy to guess if we use the process of elimination. Removing the dead, it leaves us with a few options. Could it be Jizo? No, he is probably in some forsaken place trying to improve your species in hopes you would become... respectable. Ishtar or Nanaya could be the ones, but no you are far too pale to come from the southern lands. Though one of you fits that criteria, but you spoke of my dead friend Aion. That means it is Arawan or Hekate that sent you,” Boreas intones strolling left and right.

“Ekateh?” Melione blurts out.

“Ekateh? Yes! She must be the one, for she always enjoyed changing form and rearranging the letters of her self-given name. A terrible sense of humor. Ekateh, Kateh, Takeh and so on ka-ka-ka,” Boreas says, looking at them and laughing.

“Takeh?” Shaphas blurts out.

“What is it?” Tyr asks.

“There was an old man who called himself that he sent me on the journey to kill that creature and told me to head for Union after,” Shaphas says remembering.

“You knew they would attack Union, and you deliberately brought me there?” Tyr yells in anger.

“It was the will of... Aion,” Shaphas says with doubt. Aion? Is his entire life a lie, is there no path?

“You said the Moon brought you?” Boreas asks, looking at Ulric.

“The Moon commands me and Melione, for we are the...” Ulric speaks as he stops.

“You realized on your own. Impressive for such a lowly creature. So the three of you were manipulated by her,” Boreas adds, laughing and coughing.

Melione remembers the words from the woman in the Pale Forest.

Puppets covered by darkness.

“I can smell you. You are the one. The one that killed the villagers and my parents,” Melione says as a single tear flows through her eye.

“It appears I have not done such a thing even though I have killed countless of your kind,” Boreas says laughing.

“You said you do not remember all that you killed,” Shaphas interjects.

“It is true. Who would waste memory on the likes of you? But since I have concluded you are from the middle kingdom and since you are all young, I can conclude that it wasn’t me for I haven’t been there for almost two hundred years. Unless you are of that age it couldn’t have been me ka-ka-ka,” Boreas says strolling; cold air exudes from him as frost covers the room.

“No,” Melione says grabbing her head.

“Did you realize it was probably the work of the one that sent you and the one that made you the way you are?” Boreas says.

“Enough! You are responsible for the demise of the Black Knights. They died from the Northmen ambush. The very same Northmen you control,” Tyr says.

“They also killed Harry,” Noname adds gripping her dagger.

“I control these Northmen as you say but I never gave orders for any war. I use them as a source of new humans, new playthings that you have seen on the floors below. Why would I care for your lowly business? The only thing I ordered was the attack on Union for I sensed a presence there but now I realize that it was a trap,” Boreas says looking at Noname.

“Is everything a lie?” Shaphas says.

“Wat now?” Noname asks, unsure what to do.

“Now, you die!” Boreas says as all his smiles and laughter vanish into a dead cold expression.

Boreas raises his hand, paralyzing the party on their feet; unable to move or blink, they stand defenseless.

“You are nothing more than weak puppets. Slaves to your nature. Trying and striving for something more, something unattainable. Always,” Boreas says as he coughs violently.

He walks a step toward them as the surrounding air slowly freezes; frost appears upon the steel contraptions around him.

“Tiresome. So tiresome. Fighting with and against each other until withering away as a flower plucked from the ground. Do you want to live? Can you live?” Boreas asks, making another step.

Melione blinks. The fingers on her left arm slightly twitch, her right arm shakes.

“Is there any meaning to it?” Boreas asks, approaching Melione and staring her in the eyes. She blinks again.

“What?” Boreas blurts out, noticing her slight movement.

Suddenly, she breaks free from the invisible prison as she struggles to move her hands upwards towards Boreas.

“Can you do it?” Boreas asks with a hopeful smile, almost cheering for her.

“Dead like bunnies in the fields, dead like bunnies in the fields,” Melione slowly sings as her hands ascend; Boreas watches them with expectation.

A little more, just a little... she puts her hands on him as the pale elder smiles. Blood pours from his nose. Translucent bright blood with a dim purple glow.

“Will it be enough?” Boreas asks as blood pours from his ears and mouth. He raises his hand as he gently puts it on Melione’s chest.

“Dead like bunnies in the fields, dead like bunnies in the fields...” Melione continues her weird songlike chant as tears pour from her eyes.

“I understand what you are. She has made a suitable tool for my death but too late... it is too late ka-ka-ka. The ones that came before you already sealed my fate. I am already dead. It is funny. If Hekate was only a little bit more patient I would have died. But now she created something that will be her own undoing,” Boreas says as he laughs.

Holding Boreas Melione screams and with her scream, the others free themselves from Boreas’s spell as they lunge at him.

“I am death. I am death incarnate. Those who look at the eyes of death shall know eternal darkness,” Ulric screams as he stabs Boreas in the chest. Ulric grabs a handful of bolts as he stabs Boreas with them. Shaphas circles around Boreas as he smashes him in the back; Boreas remains standing and smiling, almost unhinged. Noname appears next to Shaphas as she slits his throat with her dagger.

Boreas falls to the ground covered with his blood and its beautiful glow; he laughs as certain patches of his revealed flesh change to a grey inhuman skin.

“It took me so long to realize why I hate your species. So long... it took me to realize. Seek your real enemy and fight. I can finally rest,” Boreas says, panting. Ice slowly covering his body.

The party stands over the dying man looking at him unsure of what to feel.

“Why do you hate us?” Shaphas asks.

“You are... a mirror,” Boreas says closing his eyes with a smile on his face.

Melione falls unconscious to the ground.

“Melione!” Ulric screams grabing her mid fall.

Suddenly, they hear screams of pain.

“What is that?” Tyr yells turning around he sees dozens of mystics approaching.

“It appears our tale ends here,” Ulric says, standing up facing the incoming horde.

“So it seems,” Tyr adds.

Noname turns to them as her right eye twitches and her finger flips.

The mystics are upon them.

Then- the mystics fall to the ground weeping at the sight of their dead master. The party members look at each other with confusion.

They start slowly walking through the crying mystics; descending the Black Tower it meets them with the same sight. On the seventh floor, they free the imprisoned children, leading them

downstairs. The army of once-powerful mystics are now reduced to nothing. Broken and shattered images follow their descent.

They say that going up the hill is harder than going down the hill, but not always... not now. They make it out as bright rays of sunlight hit their skin. Warming it.

Tyr looks for the gigantic armored being but cannot find it; he sighs in relief.

A sizeable group of Northmen riding Fenrir beasts appears in front of them.

Noname spits on the ground as she grips her dagger. They are too tired to do anything about it but might as well try. They raise their weapons in readiness if only for show, barely standing from exhaustion.

A hundred riders stop in front of them as their beasts growl.

“Well, aren’t you all full of surprises,” they hear a woman’s voice. The other riders make way as she rides in front.

“Kopo Eno?” Tyr blurts out.

“The same,” Chieftain Kopo Eno says.

The party laughs as they drop their weapons.