The Zombie Knight

Fire and lightning lashed up and around the enormous chamber, casting off sparks that were so numerous and deadly that any normal person would probably have been vaporized on contact. The entire building rumbled more violently with each new geyser of electrified flame.

This level of danger while working was not something he had experienced in quite some time. Even the most intensive bits of creation involving the Roberts had not gotten this bad. Hell, perhaps not since its own creation had he seen such fury from the Clown Pit.

In moments like this, even he was not invulnerable here. The forge had that much power. He had to be in pan-rozum just to handle it, just to keep things under control.

One slip up would spell the end for the poor little Lion and his reaper, who were both currently at the center of the inferno. They were probably screaming in agony, but it was all being drowned out by the Pit.

The Pit itself was a gigantic bowl embedded in the floor, big enough to park ten or more cars. Plenty of space to move about and work, to interact with the inferno, to calm or stoke it at particular points, to tweak the raging ardor that flowed and swirled through each spark and flicker.

Delicate, delicate work. Made even more so by the Pit's rage.

The real magic, though, happened at the very bottom of the bowl: the center, where the subjects were being held fast as much by their harnesses as by the whirlwind of ardor currently encapsulating them. Because beneath them, beneath that whirlwind, was the Eye of the Pit.

The pitch dark hole with no bottom, where all of the ardor in the Pit flowed both from and then back into. It was a rift, of sorts, and that was where the Pit truly lived. Where it felt. Where it learned.

Where it decided whether it would work for or against him during the creative process.

It didn't much care for organics. Especially people. It tolerated him, sure, but anyone else? No. It wanted to render them inorganic. It wanted to reduce them to dust.

So Morgunov had a fight on his hands. And not an easy one, to be sure.

But, thankfully, it was one he'd had many times before.

"Which was?" said Hector.

'As I said, their image is very important to them. But that might've been quite the understatement, if the rumors I heard are true. Supposedly, there was another sect that the Fellowship was feuding with. I know not what it was called--and perhaps nor does anyone else, now. Because the Freemen annihilated it to a man. Wiped it off the face of Eleg.'

Hector cocked an eyebrow at that information, but not because it was all that hard to believe. Abolish in-fighting was easy enough to imagine. The ruthlessness that Grigozo was describing, however--that did seem a bit contrary to how the Freeman Fellowship portrayed itself.

'It was certainly a strange rumor of questionable veracity,' the reaper went on. 'Among the other sects of Abolish, the Freemen are not well respected. People talk badly and openly about them all the time. And as a result, there are many sects which you could describe as "feuding" with them. But to my knowledge, they never seek retribution or violence of any kind based on those things. Except, apparently, in this one, debatable instance.'

"Sounds like there's not much reason to believe it, then," said Hector.

'I would agree, if not for the fact that in this instance, the feuding had been of a different sort compared to the norm. The reason the Freemen are not respected is because they are viewed as weak and cowardly. Or disloyal to the greater cause of Abolish, perhaps. These things, I suspect, do not bother the Freemen. But in this case, the talk had been virtually the opposite: that they were not the gentle, peaceful creatures they claimed to be. That instead, they were two-faced, vile, backstabbing, and violent.' Grigozo allowed a beat to pass. 'I do not think they appreciated that.'

"...So you think that in order to prove they aren't a bunch of violent psychopaths, they decided to murder everyone who was saying that about them?"

'Yes. Hence my one bit of trepidation. I must admit, however, that for me, such a rumor being proved true would not have been a dealbreaker in the slightest. When compared against all of my other peers, I would have probably still considered them saints.'

Huh.

'Perhaps you would feel differently, though.'

Tough to say without more context, Hector felt. It was hard to blame anyone for killing members of Abolish when so many of them were evil sons of bitches.

It did make him a bit uneasy, however. If they weren't truly as peaceful as they appeared to be, then that was not something that he should just ignore.

Hector exchanged glances with his own reaper, wondering what Garovel might've been thinking. Now wasn't really the time to get into it, though. He took a seat at one of the large tables that filled the Moonlight Hall and rested his elbows on it while holding Grigozo out in front of him. Carlos took a chair to his left, holding Ericoros much the same.

"Any complaints about your treatment thus far?" said Hector.

'No,' said Grigozo. He sounded more tired than before.

"Would you like more time to rest?"

'Yes, but ask your questions, first.'

"Alright," said Hector.

The Sandlords had been interrogating him for a few hours, asking the more generally useful things, such as what Grigozo knew about Abolish's operations all over the continent. From what Hector understood, Grigozo's information had been fairly juicy, though still limited.

Which wasn't too surprising. No doubt, the Abolish heads were concerned about precisely this type of situation: one of their most influential officers or reapers getting captured and spilling their guts. It would've been quite weird--and perhaps suspicious--if Grigozo could tell them anything they wanted to know.

Regardless, Hector figured that he could leave those sorts of inquires to the others. Instead, he wanted to take a different approach. "What do you know of the Freeman Fellowship?"

'Ah. Them. An intriguing group. I was interested in joining them at one point, but alas... ah... it did not work out.'

"Why?"

'Banda was... shall we say, not quite the kind of person who qualifies for an invitation from them.'

Hmm. "It's invite only?"

'Yes. From what I've heard, they take their image and reputation extremely seriously. The last thing they want is one of their own members doing something that reflects poorly on the rest of them, especially when Abolish as a whole is already doing a perfectly good job of that for them.'

"You seem to think pretty highly of them," said Hector.

'I had high hopes for them, perhaps. Without being able to join them, however, I do not know if they truly live up to the ideal I've formulated in my mind. I suspect not, as is usually the case with hopes and ideals, but I've not yet seen or heard anything that proves otherwise.'

"Really?" said Hector. "You've never heard a single bad thing about the Fellowship?"

'I suppose it would depend on one's perspective, but no, I would not say that I have.' The reaper paused. 'Well. Then again, maybe there was one thing...'

Why they'd chosen "Moonlight" Hall instead of "Starlight" Hall, Hector still didn't quite understand, but the name appeared to be sticking for whatever reason. Maybe Starlight Hall would've been too on the nose.

The Moonlight Hall was an impressive room, though. While it didn't match the Grand Hall of the Night in terms of size, it did match it in terms of being composed entirely of nightrock. Every one of Warrenhold's eight great towers had at least one chamber of nightrock, and this was the Star Tower's.

Hector found a few more people here than he expected. More Saqqafs had decided to stay behind than Hector realized.

"Ah, Lord Goffe," said Abbas' eldest son, Raheem, upon seeing him. He was holding Grigozo in his right hand. "I thought you would be resting a bit longer."

"Probably should be," said Hector. "What about you guys? You've been at this for a while, already. Not getting tired?"

"Oh, we're fine, Lord. Not to worry." After a beat, however, Raheem seemed to intuit more from Hector's words. "But perhaps we could use a break, if you would like to take over."

"Alright. Go get something to eat, if you're hungry."

"We will do that."

Raheem handed the reaper off to him, then motioned for the other Saqqafs to follow, which they soon did.

Only two others remained behind. Carlos Sebolt and his reaper, Olijas.

Hector hadn't seen Carlos at all during the fight with Banda, but that was because he'd been the one assigned to keeping an eye on Ericoros after Melchor left. And Hector was grateful to him. The decision to stay here in Warrenhold when almost every other Rainlord servant was going off to fight one of the most important battles of their lives--that couldn't have been easy.

Carlos was giving him a look now as if waiting for instruction. Perhaps he was expecting Hector to send him away like the Saqqafs.

"If you want a break, too, then I can take over," said Hector.

Carlos glanced at Olijas, probably exchanging silent words. Neither said anything, however, and they both ended up looking uncertain.

Hector decided to elaborate. "You're welcome to stay, though, if you prefer."

Carlos gave a nod. "We'll stay with you, Lord."

Man, this lording business was a bit too nuanced for Hector's liking, sometimes. He appreciated everyone trying to read the room and infer what he was truly saying, but it could also make things a bit more difficult when he really was just saying what he meant.

Up until recently, he'd been thinking of the Star Tower as the likely last target for the reconstruction. It being the tower in need of the most repair made it seem like the place that no one would be using for a very long time.

Then, apparently, Melchor Blackburn decided that he quite liked it in there, which in turn meant that Ericoros ended up being kept there most of the time, as well.

And now, despite Melchor having gone off to Vantalay, the Star Tower was still being used for Ericoros--and Grigozo, too.

This was what happened when he just went with the flow, Hector supposed.

Not that there seemed to be any harm in it. The Star Tower was actually quite a neat little spot, in its own right. It hung from the cavern ceiling like a gigantic version of all the stalactites around it, so compared to the other towers, it felt quite a bit different when looking down over the central plaza from one of its windows.

Just knowing that you were floating there, suspended so high above the ground, gave the place a rather unique vibe. Enough so, in fact, that Hector was starting to wonder if he should try to keep it this way. The tower could still be refurbished in every other way, of course, but the idea that they might just... not rebuild the bottom half was becoming more appealing to him.

Especially because it could also be considered an added element of security. According to Voreese, the original purpose of the Star Tower was imprisonment, which was, more or less, what they were starting to use it for now. So if it was eventually going to turn into a proper prison again, then would it not make sense for it to have one less exit from which prisoners could escape?

Weird to think about. Even just a few months ago, Hector never would've imagined himself thinking about the architecture of prisons. But the value of it in the future was looking undeniable. He needed to take this seriously, which meant he should probably study up more before making any big decisions.

One more thing on the to-do list.

Hopefully, it wouldn't end up being too important too soon. For now, the Star Tower was perfectly functional for their needs. They weren't keeping the reapers in cells but rather just in the tower's single largest chamber, which didn't have a name until Melchor and Orric had started calling it the Moonlight Hall.

Along the way, Haqq Najir accompanied him once again. Hector materialized the helmet piece for him to examine, which the man proceeded to do so in silence.

Hector couldn't help growing curious what Haqq thought of it. No doubt, it was too soon to get a proper assessment, and given how quiet Haqq was being, Hector supposed he'd just have to wait.

Garovel, however, had apparently not been thinking the same thing. 'So?' he asked. 'What do you make of it?'

Haqq didn't bother looking up. "Too early to tell," he said, which made Hector feel somewhat vindicated. Haqq held the helmet up to his ear and rapped a knuckle against the side.

Hector recalled him doing that before with iron. He'd thought it a bit odd back then, but here and now, it was making a lot more sense to him. At this point, Hector knew the sound that iron made quite well, and that was clearly not it. Too thick. Dulled. Barely ringing, despite its relative bell-shape.

Whatever that metal was, it was dense. Haqq knocked it again, and the result was of course the same. The sound didn't really carry. Like hitting a wall rather than a bell.

'C'mon, you must have SOME thoughts,' said Garovel.

Haqq ignored him and looked to Hector, instead. "Make a copy of this out of iron for me," he said.

Hector did so. It appeared in his open palm, and he handed it off to the man.

Haqq put the other one under his arm like a football and then rapped his knuckle against the iron, listening closely again.

'Oh, so NOW you're interested in Hector's iron, eh? Why the change of heart?'

Hector gave the reaper a look. 'Garovel...'

'What?' said the reaper privately.

'Leave him alone.'

'Hmph. You forgive and forget things too easily, y'know that?'

Haqq banged the two helmets together, then held one up to each ear.

'There's no way that's actually giving him useful information,' said Garovel, thankfully still privately. 'He's just doing stuff to look busy.'

The trip over to the Star Tower was another long one. It was the tower that was technically the farthest away from the Entry Tower, but it at least helped that he didn't have to go all the way down into the courtyard first. In fact, the bridging walkways were the only way to enter the Star Tower, because the bottom half of it was still missing, so unlike all the others, it bore no entrance from the courtyard.

With so much of the Candle's information in his head now, Hector could understand that sentiment a little better. And while in some ways, that made him more sympathetic to Ivan's perspective, in other ways, it had the exact opposite effect.

If you've had such awful misery visited upon you, then how could you, with such personal and intimate knowledge of what it was like, go out into the world and seek to visit similar feelings upon others?

Where was the sense in that?

There wasn't any. Because at that point, it couldn't be about logic, anymore. Or even survival or glory, as some might suggest.

It could only be about power. And maybe malice, by extension.

A desire to inflict pain for pain's sake. Because inflicting pain could at least make you feel powerful for change, and after experiencing so much horror, perhaps you'd grown tired of only ever feeling weakness.

That part, he was still struggling to wrap his head around. It was so antithetical to everything that he was trying to accomplish.

And yet...

He might've liked to believe that the idea was entirely foreign to him, that he couldn't imagine being so utterly filled with frustration and hatred that those two things became the only driving impulses in his mind.

But he'd felt it before. Most certainly.

He didn't want to lie to himself.

And if a timid wimp like him could reach a point where he felt that way, then it wasn't difficult to imagine other, more naturally vigorous people going through the same thing.

Then again, maybe in his case, it had been the timid wimpiness which had ultimately led him down the path to that feeling.

Or maybe not.

Agh.

Why did the world have to be so confusing? With everything the Candle had showed him, things should've been starting to make more sense, right? But every time he began to feel like maybe life wasn't so complicated after all, something else would come along and make him question everything he thought he already knew.

After his call with Xander, he made sure to call the Queen next and update her on things. He tried to keep it brief, but she ended up wanting all of the details. Which was understandable, he supposed. Unfortunately for her, he only had so many to give, and she was left sounding rather dissatisfied by the time their call concluded.

After that, he could've finally gone to get some sleep. And he certainly felt like he needed it, but with all these thoughts still brewing in the back of his mind, he suddenly wanted to stay awake for a while longer.

So he decided to go check on Grigozo and Ericoros.

The problem, he was realizing, was that concept of "hating existence." It sounded simple enough at first, but he was starting to think that it wasn't at all. For one thing, how the hell could someone hate all of existence? What did existence ever do wrong? It was just an idea. A concept. What point was there in feeling that strongly about it?

But he had these memories now. This information. From the Candle, he was pretty sure. Plus his own memories, too, he supposed. He'd made plenty of those over the past year or so.

And they were telling him things. Reminding him of things. Stuff he'd experienced. Stuff he hadn't. Thankfully, he could at least differentiate them in that regard. His own life was much clearer in his mind. The others were foggier. Like dreams, maybe. And a bit less potent, as a result.

But they were certainly not without their impact. The Candle had seen so much. Through so many different eyes. So many different places.

And a lot of it, he knew, had been abject suffering. Just people in utter misery. Experiencing tragedy after tragedy. The kind that turned their entire world upside down.

It was so strange to dwell on. An ocean of ancient sensations. Not ideas, exactly. At least, not yet. Maybe in the future, he'd be able to pick up on specific thoughts like that, but at least for the time being, all he could remember were vague scenes painted with emotions.

A great sickness, for example. Death all around. Everywhere. A stench that seemed like it would never go away. And such heart-rending despair.

Hopelessness. Heartlessness. Hatred.

At what? He wasn't sure. Maybe everything.

That was just one way in which it almost made sense to him. One avenue down which someone could arrive at such a dark place.

It made him wonder if he could ever get there, himself. Be taken there. If everything he'd come to care about crumbled around him? Everyone?

It hurt to think about. But it seemed necessary, too. If he was to continue down this dangerous path, fighting people who might very well be enveloped in this exact type of thinking...

Yeah. It definitely seemed necessary to think about. And important. Even if he never found answers--which he expected he wouldn't--it still seemed important.

He was reminded of Ivan's words to him.

"Take a good, long look at the world and try to see things for how they really are."

Hector pocketed the phone.

'The way that guy talks reminds me of a Sixth Age aristocrat,' said Garovel.

"Is that a bad thing?" said Hector.

'I suppose not. Bit odd, though. Makes me wonder how old he is.'

"Why? You're old as shit, but you don't talk much different than I do."

'Excuse me, but just because I do not pontificate with the eminent magnitude of my lexiconic mastery during my frequent bouts of loquacious glory does not mean that I am any less of an esteemed and erudite gentleman than someone like him.'

"...What?"

'Just 'cuz I don't talk funny don't mean I ain't smart.'

"Oh. But I mean, that was kinda my point, wasn't it? The way he talks isn't necessarily reflective of his age. Just like with you, right?"

'Yeah, okay, sure, but I'm also a reaper. We have a tendency to be a bit more adaptable when it comes to social and cultural changes in the world. Unlike you stubborn corporeals who get all worked up whenever the youngins invent a new word that you never used when you were their age.'

"...I don't know if I'm old enough to really appreciate this conversation."

'New words are great! Language is a fascinating thing, and honestly, being able to observe its evolution firsthand over the ages has been one of the best parts about being a reaper, in my humble opinion.'

"I feel like all reapers must feel that way, considering how chatty you all are."

'Pretty much,' said Garovel. 'Exceptions no doubt exist, but in general, I would say that in order for us to come to terms with the extremely strange nature of our own existence, we have to be able to take enjoyment in whatever ways we can. So even if we start out not giving a crap about things like conversation and culture, we'll eventually learn to love them. Or alternatively, get super fucking pissed off at all of existence as we know it.'

"Hmm. You talking about Abolish reapers, now?"

'Not all of them, but yeah. I'd argue that the origin of Abolish was probably reapers who simply could not find any way to cope with what we are.'

Hector felt like he'd heard Garovel talk about this before. And he hadn't understood it very well back then, how someone could reach a point where they wanted to destroy humanity or the world--or even all of existence.

But now, somehow, he could almost wrap his head around it.

Still seemed supremely stupid, of course, but it felt somewhat comprehensible, at least.

<"Indeed. But it sounds like you have some free time on your hands now, eh? Care to pitch in?">

Hector couldn't help exhaling half a laugh. "I don't think I should leave my home country, right now." He could see Garovel's skeletal face next to him, and the visible relief on it was almost enough to pull the rest of that laugh out of Hector.

<"It was worth a shot,"> said Xander.

"If you need something that doesn't involve traveling, I might be able to help," said Hector.

<"I'll keep that in mind, then.">

"Oh, and uh, I found some information on your man, Lozaro."

There arrived a noticeable pause. <"Truly? And so soon? Ah, from either Banda Toro or his reaper, it must be. I see. Which must also mean that you managed to neutralize them without killing them, no?">

Hector wasn't sure he liked how quickly this guy was able to connect dots. He wasn't about to confirm it, though. Even if he liked Xander, there was no point in giving the Vanguard any amount of justification to come here and try to take Grigozo into their custody. "My source will have to remain a secret, unfortunately. For now, at least."

<"I see. Go on, then. What have you learned?">

Garovel had only just delivered the intel to him a few minutes prior, having gotten it from the Sandlords who were still questioning Grigozo. "Supposedly, he's in Ardora. There's a city called Vamor in the country of Targarith."

<"I am familiar with it,"> said Xander. <"Northeast of the vast Gettira Plains, as I recall. I shall head there soon.">

"Are you sure that's wise?" said Hector. "You've got your hands full with the war, don't you? And my information could be wrong, you know."

<"I will have an opening for such a trip shortly. And even if I did not, I would make time for it.">

"From what I've heard, Lozaro is incredibly paranoid and will flee at the first sign of trouble."

<"Oh, I am aware, but thank you for the warning. I'm afraid I must go now. Is there anything else you would tell me before I do?">

Hector sure hoped not, because he couldn't think of anything. "No, that's it."

<"Farewell then, my friend. Thank you for the information, and may fortune favor you in your next battle.">

And the guy hung up without waiting for a reply.

Big battles were one thing. Battles between multitudes of people, all able to tag out and rest in order to continue fighting later. But single combat? How monstrous did such warriors have to be in order to continue on for such extended periods of time, alone?

But perhaps that was debatable here, too. Were these two truly alone? Vanderberk had his army of hellspawn, and the stranger, his countering army of crystal beasts.

Honestly, though, there were probably aspects to this fight that he wasn't even perceiving. It did seem odd that the stranger wasn't even showing himself, instead seeming to rely totally on his crystal minions. Some of the light beams did chase or strike Vanderberk, but they didn't appear to do much to him, other than leave smoking trail behind.

Given everything else Raul had already seen, he had to imagine that the stranger was capable of yet more than this. Vanderberk, too, probably. So what were they waiting for? Some sort of opening to land a more decisive blow? Or maybe this was a battle of attrition? A competition of resources and endurance?

Whatever the case, as he continued to watch the fight draw out in this dark place, Raul Blackburn began to wonder if he was even in the real world, anymore.

-+-+-+-+-

<"So all is well, then?"> said the voice on the phone.

It felt a little weird to be hearing it with his ears this time, and it didn't quite match with the soundless one that he'd grown more familiar with before, but Hector supposed that was only natural.

In order to contact him, Xander had given him a phone number, four digit code, and also a pass phrase. The first voice on the phone had asked for the code, the second had asked for the phrase, and now, finally, he was apparently speaking with the man himself.

Hector had decided to use a burner phone for this call, just in case, though he didn't really think it would make much difference. If Xander wanted to find him, he probably wouldn't have a hard time doing so.

"I don't know about 'all' being well," said Hector, "but yeah, Banda Toro was neutralized."

<"that is="" quite="" good="" news,="" as="" i="" was="" unable="" to="" procure="" any="" aid="" for="" you."="">

"Oh." Welp. He supposed that was one less thing to worry about, at least. Though, it did feel kinda worrisome in a different way. "You're that short on manpower, huh?"</"that>

The trouble was that this place had become so damn confusing. He sprinted across the surface of the river, but it felt like he wasn't getting anywhere. With the sky so dark, it was hard to tell where the river even ended. Plus, the hellspawn and crystal angels flying all over the place weren't helping him understand the situation any better.

A beam of light hit him, blinding him for several seconds and bringing him to a standstill. His legs sunk below the river's surface as his concentration faltered, but he caught himself with his arms and climbed back out.

He didn't get it. The light dissipated, and he felt fine. No change. He'd seen the way it transformed those demon things, but it apparently had no effect on him? Maybe it hadn't been intended to and had only struck him accidentally.

Ugh.

He felt so weird in this place. Sluggish. Heavy. And it was like... the space around him was distorted. Maybe that was the way the river never seemed to end.

He didn't know where to go.

But if he couldn't escape, then maybe observing the fight more closely was the smarter option. Contributing was probably still impossible, but he wouldn't know that for sure if he didn't pay attention.

It wasn't hard to tell where Vanderberk was, at least. The hellspawn were getting obliterated by the crystal beasts, and Vanderberk was the only thing countering them, punching through them like a man-sized cannonball or otherwise turning them to dust whenever they got close to him.

But they just kept coming. Hellspawn kept being born from seemingly nowhere, just appearing out of the thin, dark air. And rays of light kept converting them.

For a while, Raul was able to just stand there, watching it unfold. This spot down here on the river might've been a bit safer than he realized.

What an odd fight. It seemed a stalemate to him, at the moment. Neither side gaining any real ground.

How long could this go on for, he wondered?

The more he thought about it, the more he remembered various tales he'd heard of historic clashes between great warriors. In many of them, fights lasted days.

Having been in some pretty intense scuffles as a kid, he'd always thought those claims were exaggerated in order to sound more mythical or legendary.

But observing this fight here and now, he was starting to see how that kind of thing might happen.

Unfortunately, Raul had never had the honor of meeting him personally, but the tales of the man were legendary. During the Jungle Wars, Grandpa Dino had single-handedly liberated the city of Maridol in Melmoore from an infamous sect of Abolish. Not unlike what the Rainlords had recently done for Miro.

So this mysterious stranger claiming to be an old friend... could translate into any number of things. Obviously, with Grandpa Dino having lived such a long and crazy life, he would've made plenty of friends outside of the Vanguard, too. But the fact that this stranger was also working against Abolish made for some compelling evidence that whoever this was belonged to the Vanguard.

Plus, there was the nature of the plan to consider. Ambitious was one word for it. Insane, another. Because in the end, it boiled down to single combat with one of Abolish's most powerful warriors.

Who would this stranger have to be in order for such confidence to be justified?

A few famous names came to mind, certainly, but one in particular made more sense to him than the others. If he'd been able to, Raul would've guessed it in order to gauge the imposter's reaction.

Here and now, though, in the middle of all this otherworldly mayhem, the identity of the stranger was the furthest thing from Raul's mind. He was only concerned about trying to survive a bit longer.

These weird demons or whatever they were--they thankfully didn't seem too interested in him, but they weren't completely leaving him alone, either.

He'd seen some of them spewing fire, smoke, and acid in his direction. Back when he couldn't move, he would've definitely been smothered and killed, if not for an invisible barrier that made their attacks splash off harmlessly around him.

Raul could only guess that it was the stranger's doing. Why the man was bothering to protect him--a servant whose death here wouldn't even matter much--Raul couldn't rightly say, but he did appreciate it. Being boiled alive by acid would definitely not have been fun.

He wanted to contribute to the fight in some way, but his instinct was telling him that the more helpful thing to do would actually be to just get away. Making it so the stranger didn't have to worry about him anymore would probably be better than any ineffectual attack he might've been able to launch against Vanderberk.

So that's what he was trying to do now. Create distance.

The questions that the fake had asked him had mostly been about whether the Rainlord elders had gotten the message, if they'd agreed to the plan, if they needed more prep time--that sort of thing. And without being able to move his head, Raul had only been able to use his eyes to answer. Up and down for yes, side to side for no. And on top of all that, the imposter had to be careful not to be seen spending too much time next to Raul, too, which was why much of the questioning had been conducted while "Croll" wasn't even in the same room.

How, exactly, the imposter had been able to discern Raul's answers when he wasn't even looking at him... well, that was just another layer to the mystery.

But there'd been one string of questions that proved somewhat telling. The elders had proved understandably reticent to trust this random stranger who'd appeared seemingly from nowhere, saying all the right things--and sounding a bit too good to be true, honestly.

And after a while, the imposter began to pick up on their trepidation, which led to an interesting exchange.

'Tell Darktide that he should "grip the torch with both hands."'

And when Raul relayed the stranger's message, Melchor Blackburn had wanted to know how the man knew what his father used to say to him when he was young.

'Bernardino Blackburn was a good friend of mine, once upon a time. Please trust that I bear you and your kin no ill will. When all of this is over, if we are still alive, I promise that I will tell you my name.'

That had certainly gotten the gears turning in Raul's head. If the guy really did have old, friendly ties with House Blackburn, then it was quite strange for him to not just drop his name straight away and earn their trust immediately.

But then again, if the mission went pear-shaped, the guy could've been worried about his identity being leaked to Abolish by newly captured Rainlords. Such as Raul, for example.

And then there was that name.

Melchor's father, Bernardino Blackburn. Raul had heard it many times before. It was an important one in regard to the history of their House--and beyond.

Lord Bernardino--or Granpa Dino, as Raul had heard others call him--had been the head of House Blackburn before Lord Ismael took over. Moreover, he'd been an internationally famous warrior.

In the Vanguard, no less.

Behind.

Vanderberk could sense it himself now. Yes. The Inferno was afraid, but it knew something was there. Instead of pursuing on its own, it was giving its knowledge to him. Its extra senses.

What were these? Vanderberk couldn't have described them, even if he'd had the presence of mind to do so. This had never happened before.

Didn't matter, though. He knew enough.

He attacked. And learned more.

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