The Bitter King

[Revenant]

The rustling of the journal brought an amused huff to William’s lips, though the ghoul mercenary humorlessly shoved it back down before it could escape. The situation that he and Rayse were in wasn’t exactly the type that brooked much in the way of humor. Besides, while the plane's inherent magic allowed all intelligent creatures within it to communicate verbally, an effect that some higher-up wittily named the All-Tongue, such understanding did not translate to written form. He'd come across hundreds of languages during his time in the Nameless City, all equally as meaningless to him as Althanas' common scrawl was to those language's writers. William had no doubt that his fresh follower was currently baffled by his meaningless script, and he felt no remorse over the fact. After all, it did keep him quiet, which was something that William found to be priceless in this situation.

Strangely though, William thought as he scanned the depressed grey rubble outside his hiding spot, Rayse wasn’t the only one keeping quiet in the Warrens. On any given day there were a dozen factions warring for control of territory within the broken avenues and twisted passages that made up the Warrens. The various packs or tribes or whatever they called themselves could be found everywhere in the Warrens, whooping war cries and clashing crudely hammered blades with one another in an orgy of violence and territorial chest beating. Add on to that the fact that the Warrens itself was a chaotic mess countless stones grinding themselves to oblivion as the mass constantly compacted and shifted and silence was almost an unknown in the echoing venues.

Since the word had been passed that he’d been hunting their leader, William hadn’t thought anything strange about how the members of the Broken Thorn Paws had all pulled back into a defensive position within their lair. It was the only sensible thing for Vreela to have commanded from his minions, though it hadn’t done him any good in the end, but it was one of the few times that William remembered seeing a claimed area of the Warrens entirely abandoned. But now that he stopped to think about it, aside from the fresh meat who had no real sense of what was going on in the place, William couldn’t remember seeing anyone other than himself and his new companion prowling the Warrens’ passages.

A faint stirring at the edges of his vision told him that his assumption wasn’t quite correct. Something was amiss in the Warrens, that much William knew from the general atmosphere that was slowly trickling into the ghoul’s brain, but after what he’d done to Deckard the liches themselves couldn’t keep the zombie boss’s men from locking onto William’s scent and hunting him down. In fact, William noted as he bent and sifted the chalky dust beneath him through his fingers, someone had already passed by their hiding spot at least three times in the short duration while he was retrieving the key from Rayse. Trackers had a tendency to disappear or go mad while pursuing prey through the Warrens, so if Deckard was going to give any one of his minions the task of tracking William down, he wouldn’t settle for anything less than the best.

“Brellneriliscint,” William hissed, the name sliding from his withered lips like a curse.

“Eh?” Rayse asked, raising his head from the spidery scrawled pages.

“Brellnerilliscint is Deckard’s best tracker and he’s been by here recently,” William stood and wiped the dust from his hands. “More than once from the looks of it.”

“So we should probably be making tracks towards your real hideout then?” Rayse grumbled, snapping the journal shut and tucking it safely away in the lip of his ratty trousers. “Well?”

William shot him an annoyed look but nodded nonetheless for Rayse to follow him only to put a hand up as he cocked his head to the side, straining to pick up the sounds playing at the edges of his senses. “Damn all the hells,” he cursed, realizing that there was something just around the bend that had picked up on his and Rayse’s exit from the hideaway and was now on the move towards them. Wasting no more time, William turned and bolted further into the thick mist filling the Warrens, pausing only long enough to give his companion the signal to follow.

The two ghouls flight through the Warren’s mazelike passages frustrated William to no end. He knew that, alone, he could have easily evaded Brellnerilliscint and made it quickly back to his shelter. But the mists rolled thickly through the Warrens today and he knew that Rayse wouldn’t have adapted to them yet, fresh as he was. Unwilling to just bolt into the mist and leave Rayse stranded, William was forced to slow down, a constraint Brillnerilliscint wasn’t burdened by.

By the time the two of them had passed through the Streets of Cracked Angels, named for the tattered menagerie of stone celestials lining the hundred yards or so of this particular piece of the Warrens, William knew that they wouldn’t make it back to his haven before Deckard’s men caught up to them. The realization wasn’t pleasant, but there was little that William could do about it, burdened as he was with Rayse's presence. And so, instead of continuing on the path towards his haven, William ducked into one of the Warren’s innumerable side passages in the hopes that he could potentially lose Brellnerilliscint in the chaos lying just outside the Warrens’ more stable pathways. Unfortunately, luck didn’t cast its fickle eye upon William that day, and the particular passage that he chose petered out after only a few winding turns, further movement being the victim of the recent arrival of a fresh pile of shattered brick and crumbling mortar.

As if on cue, a rough voice hit the two ghouls, sounding like nothing more than thick charcoal rubbing against rough stone. “Nowhere left to run Gor’Havah?” the voice rasped. Rayse spun to face the voice’s massive owner, but William was less eager to do so, knowing exacty what he would find. Brellnerilliscint’s thick boar-like visage stared blankly at the two of them, an thick-tusked emotionless slate over which the ghouls’ eyes slid like oil. Maintaining a solid focus on the tracker’s bristly four-armed form was an effort, as if the mind didn’t want to register the creature’s existence. Apparently, if Brellnerilliscint was to be believed, it was a trait that all of his species possessed, a trait which had allowed them to become the dominant species on his originating plane of existence.

William gritted his teeth with a hiss and tightened his grip on the haft of his warscythe. This wasn’t going to be pleasant.

[Rayse Valentino]

The sound of the boarman's sneering was only second to the ragged wheeze employed by Rayse, barely able to keep up with Gor'Havah's speed. He could tell that his demonic associate was holding back, maintaining his speed so as not to lose the contractor. Rayse felt ashamed, rubbing his thumb along the tips of his fingers in a circular motion and remembering the speed he once possessed. The element of fire, fused to his being, was both a gift and a curse, but now it left a void within him. He was incomplete, and in this realm lost. He glanced behind him at the mountain of rubble, as if a giant had playfully crashed two buildings together just to see the result. Judging by Gor'Havah's reaction, he did not expect the destruction that blocked his path. There was no other way out, as the walls to their sides were tall and ominous. The Warrens had shifted yet again, acting as a living construct that espoused the chaotic Lower City that it bordered. Many felt that one day the whole of the Warrens would slip into the Lower City, leaving its residents to deal with the hordes of monsters lying just beyond the wall.

"I don't think they're paying you enough to hunt me, Brell." Gor'Havah spat.

With snarls between words, Brell tightened all four of his fists, causing creaking sounds of the hard material his gauntlets were made out of, "Maybe they're not. A better question is: Why risk war with the scabs over some fresher? How's about you just give that human to me and I'll say I never found you."

"They always try to compromise before I kill them," Gor'Havah responded. "Vreela wanted me to join him before I crushed his skull. You would think that would send a message about negotiating with me."

"Have it your way!" Brell grunted. "I will enjoy this." Brell was considered a traitor to ghoul-kind, often working for the corpse-born to hunt other ghouls. The tracker was not alone, as he was accompanied by two more who wanted to challenge the duo.

Gor'Havah recognized one of them, "Looks like I was wrong about you being the smart one."

It was Yobo, the zombie who tried to mug him earlier in the cycle. Despite what happened to his allies, he had a confident grin plastered on his face. Looks like he took Gor'Havah's advice. The other one Rayse recognized from the pub, it was a humanoid that looked like a bird. It had long and thin arms and legs with three sharp talons at the end of them. Two holes were on the center of its face where a nose would be, and instead of a mouth it had a six inch long sharp beak like a hummingbird. Its gray skin looked even rougher than Gor'Havah's, a sort of rubbery texture that used to be covered in feathers. It had a puffy upper body, but its lower body was only a few inches thick and looked barely connected to its pelvis. Its beady eyes were glaring squarely at the contractor.

"Let's have some bloody fun then," Brell announced, and charged Gor'Havah.

Gor’Havah was fast, inhumanly so, but the speed mattered little when he couldn’t focus on his porcine foe. The blade of his warscythe whistled as it kissed the air in front of him but thanks to Brell’s inherent “gift” that was all it did. Ducking down to one side, Brell slid up under the scythe’s vicious arc and slammed the full brunt of his weighted fists into Gor’Havah’s chest. Unlike Gor’Havah, the tracker preferred his fights as close and dirty as he could get them, taking a certain savage pleasure in the crackle of pulped flesh and shattered bone beneath his fists. And he’d certainly had the opportunity to indulge under Deckard’s rule, as the thick scars on the pitted iron plates he’d had bolted into his hands. Those plates had sent too many of the Nameless City’s denizens to the ranks of the Lost, ghoul and zombie alike.

“Hnn,” Gor’Havah grunted as he felt the give in his ribs caused by Brell’s punch. It hurt like hell but wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to him since his arrival. And it certainly wasn’t enough to stop him, especially considering that though Brell’s nature made it difficult to maintain focus on him, there was nothing difficult about maintaining focus on the blow that he had just taken.

“I told you,” he snapped as he caught Brell’s arm in the crook of his thick bone carapace that covered most of his arms, “You’re not getting paid nearly enough.” Gor’Havah slammed his head into Brell’s snout, taking the tracker by surprise since it wasn’t every day that the tusked creature found people trying to slam into its face. Using the moment of surprise to his advantage, Gor’Havah brought the haft of his weapon around to crash into the tracker, taking the heavy creature fully off his feet and depositing him onto the shattered pile of stone covering the passage’s floor.

Roared like a savage, Gor’Havah whipped the warscythe back around, twirling the blade to bring it back in line with Brell’s recumbent form. Before he could finish the deed however, Brell gave his own bestial cry, grabbed a hunk of broken masonry the size of a man, whipped it out to meet the warscythe’s blade. Powered by Gor’Havah’s might, the shimmering blade sank deep into the rough stone, forcing itself too deep to pull back out without better leverage. Brell rolled to the side, still holding the entrapping stone, and tore the weapon from Gor’Havah’s grasp.

“Die rotter,” Brell screamed, punching a hoofed foot into Gor’Havah’s gut with enough force to tear a hole in the ghoul. Again Gor’Havah grunted, one clawed hand grabbing instinctively for the hole that Brell had torn. Such a wound would have been fatal back in the real world, but here it was merely an annoyance. But though the wound it had caused was only an annoyance, the blow drove Gor’Havah back into the wall opposite Brell with enough force to shatter the moldering brick and mortar substance around him.

Rayse could do nothing but watch, but without weapons or abilities, and with his vision hampered by the mist, his pool of potential contributions was dry. Once again he thought of escape, but the two creatures Brell was with ensured that this avenue was closed to him.

Without warning, the bird-looking creature charged at him with talons outstretched, its feet barely touching the ground as it ran. Rayse tried and failed to pull away, but one of the beast's talons pierced his shoulder. Rayse reeled from the pain, and so he could do nothing to prevent its other be-taloned arm from whipping around to similarly penetrate his opposite shoulder. His arms twitched uncontrollably, the feeling being sapped as pain coursed through his body. Even if he could regenerate his wounds as a ghoul, nothing could numb the pain of his flesh being torn asunder. He fixed the birdman with a vengeful glare, trying to regain control of his arms or, at least, the strength in his legs, but it was no use.

Using its razor sharp beak, the birdman stabbed into Rayse's neck like a knife through Concordian pie, causing him to violently expel spit from his mouth. Even though he did not need air, Rayse was still used to the involuntary nature of breathing, and the blood that filled his throat flowed out of his mouth in bursts, causing him to choke. The zombie pulled its beak out and retracted its talons, leaving Rayse to fall to the ground. A memory forced its way around his mind, giving him a headache that he tried to suppress mentally. However, the familiar glint of the headache gave him pause, and even in his addled state he remembered it was the same feeling as in the Crematorium. Biting down on his tongue, he let the memory subsume him.

--

"Why can't you just take this to one of your bosses?"

"You know how they are, Rayse. They'll just take what I have and send me off, or even if they do help I won't see a single crown out of it."

"Sorry Pierce, you came to the wrong guy. I'm not interested in your fairy tale."

Pierce thought he would say that, so he held out a small dodecahedron and started manipulating its sides, causing a click and a whirr from the object. He looked at Rayse, eager to see his reaction, but the contractor was just growing tired of the little man. He was about to tell him to leave when his vision became wavy, seeing Pierce's form wobble through the air. In fact, the whole room was shifting back and forth. Rayse opened his mouth to speak but couldn't speak, his voice blocked by a painful choking sensation. His mind immediately pieced together what was happening: He was drowning. Somehow he was now underwater, and breathing in pure water. He fell to the ground clutching his throat, tears forming in his eyes from the lack of oxygen. As soon as the feeling had started however, it ended abruptly, returning his vision to normal. Pierce was still holding the object. Rayse pulled himself up, noticing that nothing in the room was wet. The water... was an illusion?

Pierce nervously broke the silence, "This is one of the weakest artifacts he gave us, and he says there are a lot more where that came from. I figured I would give you this one... I know you can appreciate its information-gathering potential."

Rayse stood up with rage in his eyes, ready to wring Pierce's neck. He couldn't stay mad, fortunately for the little man, as he knew that it was the only way for Rayse to understand what he was dealing with.

He couldn't deny that he was interested in hearing more.

--

Rayse opened his eyes, feeling the blood drain from his throat as his ghoulish regeneration kicked in. He had thrown up most of the blood that was generated, and all that was left was the sore feeling in his neck and shoulders. The birdman hovered above him, but there was an expression of worry in his eyes. Not of Rayse or Gor'Havah, but something else. It was then that the contractor noticed the rumbling in the ground, the shaking of the dust and rocks. Every few seconds there was be a distant crashing down, but it was growing louder and louder. He looked at the wall to his side, the feeling returning in his arms while the birdman was distracted, and he quickly pulled himself up and launched one of his legs into the zombie's stomach, sending its thin frame tumbling down the road.

It was then that the crashing halted even the fight between Brell and Gor'Havah, but before they could react the entire wall burst out towards them, showering them in chunks of stone. From the dust that followed came two giant crab-like claws that were as large as Rayse himself, moving almost faster than he could see and snapping through one of Brell's arms. The rest of its bulbous body followed, and Rayse's mouth hung agape as its massive body rested on long, spidery legs. It had several sets of eyes on the side of its head, but the entire head opened up to reveal a circular set of long teeth. It drooled profusely, and its legs made deep holes in the ground from each step it took. Cuts and scrapes littered its fat body, marking it as a creature that lived a long life of war and torment. The first to run was Yobo, but he didn't make it far before the monster's claw chopped him into upper and lower zombie halves.

This was the reason the streets were empty, why the thugs of the Warrens hid in fear. This was a being that had come from the Lower City.

[Revenant]

Reacting almost without thought, William snatched up the haft of his fallen weapon with both hands, blade still embedded in the massive piece of stone, and heaved with all the force that his demonically enhanced physique could muster. The stone, which had been larger than the unfortunate Yobo, shot off the ground as if William’s weapon were the arms of a catapult and into the thickly crusted carapace surrounding what William took to be one of the creature’s eyes. While the Plane of Unlife mostly saw fit to snatch humanoid creatures into its embrace, there were the occasional others that found their way into the Dead Piles. While the Order of the White Flame had made a vow to protect the well-being of the sleepers in the Dead Piles, the things that were obviously far too destructive, bestial, or alien were hauled into the Lower City and left there to awaken and carry out their monstrous existence there until they were put down or passed into the ranks of the Lost on their own.

But though they were bestial, most of the creatures dropped into the Lower City were intelligent, some wickedly so, and many assaulted the walls of the Middle City on an almost constant basis. It was one of the reasons that the Order maintained a veritable army of Servitors along the border between the two tiers. Even so, creatures still slipped through the cracks on occasion, eluding their titanic hunters. Some, like the Khuulite, kept a low profile. Others, William thought as he watched the pillar on the end of his scythe collide with the creature, weren’t so subtle.

The stone shattered like an explosion against the side of the creature’s head, freeing the blade of William’s scythe but only rocking the creature back an inch before drawing its attention whipping around at the offender. The creature backed slightly as it sighted William, but only to angle its segmented body to get a better lunge. Thick rolls of diseased putrescence curled out of the makeshift hole the thing had burrowed through the Warrens, spiny cilia uncurling along its length. The bird zombie shrieked in horror as the cilia caught a hold of him and passed cleanly through his body like adamantine wires, neatly dissecting him into a hundred pieces. On the ground, Rayse could only watch in amazement as they passed just over him, thankful perhaps for the first time that he’d been knocked down in a fight until one of the creature’s piercing legs slid into the uneven pavement beside his head as easily as a flame blade slides through butter. Knowing that to remain where he was would be suicide, Rayse rolled the only way he could, back into the tunnel the creature had just emerged from.

William tensed as the creature slid its bulk fully from the tunnel, noting Rayse’s narrow escape. Behind him, Brell’s panicked shrieks threatened to drown out the rest of the chaos in the Warrens until the creature’s circular maw gaped wide and let out a piercing wail that shook the stones around them. Fast as a sand viper, the worm creature shot at the creature that had dared to strike it, but William was faster. Taking a cue from his companion, William dove lengthwise on the floor, holding his scythe’s length closely against him, and rolled for his life under the arcing creature. And though he couldn’t see it, William had no doubt as to Brell’s fate as the creature slammed into the pile of rubble, bunched up like wet rubber, and then pushed through the tumbled stones, continuing its burrowing flight.

Jumping to his feet, William hook off after Rayse, who had come to the same conclusion as the elder ghoul and was running as fast as he could away from the where the Lower City creature was thrashing about. It didn't take long for William to catch up to Rayse with his enhanced speed, but even then both ghouls maintained their sprint through the tunnel that the creature had bored out of the rubble. It wasn't until the two of them passed the clanking patrol of Servitors tasked with chasing the creature down that they finally gathered their wits about them and slowed to a halt.

“What in all the hells was that thing?” Rayse panted, his body reflexively going through the motions of breathing despite the lack of a need to. William watched him stoically, remembering well how long it had taken for him to grow used to his undead state.

“Why should I know?” William snapped back, the elder ghoul being only slightly peevish after the close call that they had just skimmed out of.

“Aren't you supposed to be the expert?” Rayse's own temper flared to life and he pelted back as William with hostile sarcasm.

William grunted, waving a hand towards Rayse's gut. "You should probably deal with that."

Rayse followed his movements only to see that half of the birdman's piecemeal skull had dug into his side during his escape, including most of the creature's dagger-like beak. How he hadn't noticed it was beyond him, but he supposed that a dangerous enough situation could mask almost anything. A single tug was enough to tear the beak free, but just as he was about to toss the remains aside Rayse paused and looked at the beak. It was wickedly sharp, that much he could attest to, and he himself didn't have a weapon yet. Wielding the bisected skull of a fallen enemy was gruesome, but it wasn't the worst thing he had ever done. Shrugging, Rayse tucked the beak blade into his belt.

"Looks like there's a way out over here," William said, indicating a crack in the tunnel's wall where the grim red tinge of the outside light had managed to ooze through into the tunnel. "Give me a hand." The two ghouls silently went to work on the weakened area, each retreating into their personal thoughts as they hammered against the compacted stones. Slowly, the cracks widened into a hole that they worked on until they could each fit through.

“This is Three Mark’s territory,” William said, taking in his surroundings as they hoisted themselves out of the wreckage. “It's not far now,” he continued, dusting the rubble off of himself. "We shouldn't have anymore trouble from the locals from here. Especially since Deckard just lost his best tracker,” William finished with a sneer before leading Rayse off into the Warrens.

[Revenant]

“We’re here,” William grunted, eyeing Rayse as he waved to a pile of collapsed brick and crumbling masonry. The various other factions in the Warrens seemed to be keeping their heads down to avoid the Lower City creature rampaging around, as he had expected, and the two of them had finished their journey without further incident. Frankly William was glad, as dragging Rayse around behind him was becoming entirely too tiresome. There were at least half a dozen times now where the revenant wished he could have just left Rayse to his fate, but if the key Rayse held was truly his means for escape from this hellish otherworldy prison then he was willing to endure everything that Rayse dragged him through.

First though, he needed to find the portal that the key was linked to.

William watched his companion for any sign of protest but it appeared as if the younger ghoul was deeply lost in thought. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the entrance of his hideout. While the entrance didn’t look any different from the hundreds of other crumbling areas of the Warrens, the illusion was most definitely by design. Unless you were coming at it from the right direction, the stooping entrance blended almost perfectly with the environment. Even then, the need to nearly crawl into the hole made it seem more like some desiccated creature’s bolt hole than a place where the feared Gor’Havah lived.

“Follow me,” William said, dropping almost onto his belly as he slithered into the hole with practiced ease. Once inside conditions were vastly improved, though William had never managed to rid his abode of the musty smell of wet plaster. It had taken him quite a while to find a stable enough portion of the Warrens to build his home in, and even longer to hollow his chosen spot out to form comfortable quarters while maintaining the location’s secret at the same time. He knew that there were more than a few factions in the Middle City who would pay handsomely for the location of his home and thus secrecy had been his upmost priority.

“So how do you plan on getting my memories back?” Rayse asked after worming his way into the hideout. William noted the way that Rayse looked around, taking in the details of his home like a true professional. He’d already come a long way from the vacant rotter that William had picked up hours ago and it was apparent that once he got his feet under him he would do well in the Middle City. That was assuming, of course, the ghoul learned to not be too trusting.

The back of Rayse’s skull made a wet crackling sound as William’s bony fist slammed into it, dropping the ghoul’s body in a limp heap at William’s feet. William nudged the corpse-form with a foot before moving over him, satisfied that Rayse would be incapacitated for a while. On a living being the wound would have been almost inevitably fatal but things worked differently in the Plane of Unlife. As he was a ghoul, Rayse’s body would heal the wound in time, but by then William’s secretive business would be finished.

William swept over Rayse’s prone form and into the darkness at the back of his abode. Setting aside his scythe he went quickly to work. His first act was to check the ornate onyx brazier which had been erected in one dust-choked corner. Though it was small, a faint glow of life still emanated from deep within the chalky coals within and William grinned. If there was still life in the brazier then it meant that his link to Vorlash hadn’t yet fully closed. Slowly, with a tenderness that was almost unheard of from him, William coaxed the spark back to life, grooming it as a gardener would his prized flowerbed. Then, once life had surged back into the coals within, William picked up a handful of glassy crystals from the bad just under the brazier and threw it onto the flames.

A thick cloud of smoke billowed almost instantly from the brazier, flowing unnaturally up the walls around it as if the tendrils were feeling the area around it. Seemingly satisfied, the sentient cloud pulled back in on itself and coalesced into a shadowy yet familiar shape.

“Why Gor’Havah, I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon,” Vorlash’s featureless face leered from the smoke, his voice no less pleasant across the intervening distance.

“And yet the gateway is still open?” William sneered, gesturing to the smoldering brazier.

“You didn’t expect me to just let you take your key and leave without saying goodbye now did you?” Vorlash’s raspy laugh rolled over William like desert sand. “You did get your key didn’t you? The delightful chaos you’ve caused down there would seem to indicate so.”

William plucked the bundle from one of the pouches on his belt and unwrapped it tenderly, careful to keep the vial from touching him. Seeing it caused Vorlash to start, but then a twisted smile cut across the Void Shaper’s face and a thin, raspy tongue curled out over his pearly teeth.

“Ah, I see,” Vorlash chuckled. “Then why have you not yet taken your prize and fled from our lovely home?”

William rebound the vial and put it back in its place. “Because I need another boon from you.”

A bored expression replaced the mirth on Vorlash’s face. “Oh Gor’Havah, and what would you trade for such a favor? You’ve already done the work that the Void Shapers and we have nothing further that we require.”

“Not true.” It was William’s turn to grin. “I can offer you my servitude.”

“You would make the bargain of flesh?” Vorlash pursed his lips in surprise.

“I would,” William nodded, his face deadly serious. “Three days is the standard bargain, is it not?”

“And yet should you gain what you seek then you would across the Planes and out of your bargain,” Vorlash noted, one hand forming from the smoke to wave at the vial in William’s belt.

“And yet should I fail then I’d be bound to your service forever,” William shrugged. “True it’s probably more of a gamble than your used to but think of the reward.”

“I think, Gor’Havah,” Vorlash hissed, his face once more contorting into an inhuman grin, “that you are too independent to be a good servant. Should we win our bargain we would wipe your mind of that troublesome personality. You would lose everything that you are forever.”

The pillar of smoke reached towards William, Vorlash’s face flowing until it was barely an inch from the ghoul’s. “We have an even gamble,” Vorlash whispered, the words snaking out to caress William. “Shall we make the bargain of flesh?”

William’s grin twisted into a thoughtful grimace. Vorlash’s deal was much more dangerous for him. Given enough time Rayse would regain his memories, assuming the ghoul survived, but there was no telling how long it would take the ghoul to remember the portal’s location and he had already burned his bridges in the Middle City to get this far.

“Deal,” he finally nodded.

Vorlash pulled back, the smoke of his face twisting in delight. “The bargain has been made,” he laughed, “you may ask your boon.”

William pointed across the dark room at Rayse’s prone form. “I want you to sift through his memories and give me the location of the portal that he knows.”

“No,” Vorlash hissed, clearly enjoying himself.

William nodded. He had suspected that the request was beyond Vorlash’s abilities but figured it was worth a shot. “Then restore his memories to him and be done with it.”

“No,” Vorlash giggled, a sound which slid up William’s spine like a jagged razor.

“You can’t do anything with his memories?” William snarled angrily. “Every ghoul that lives long enough gets their memories back. You can shape a ghoul’s flesh, and you can blank a mind like you wish to do to me. Surely you can do something to restore memories.”

“Oh yes,” Vorlash nodded, “I can do something to restore memories, but I cannot restore memories.”

Snarling, William picked up a wayward brick and hurled it at the smoky Void Shaper. Vorlash’s form parted easily around the brick, reforming just behind it. “What in all the hells that exist does that mean?” William roared.

“Caution, Go’Havah,” Vorlash formed an arm again to wave a finger at William, his tongue clicking a tsking sound. “To explain the difference to you would be considered a fulfillment of your boon.”

William’s eyes formed daggers at the Void Shaper but he visibly calmed. “Very well, for my boon I ask that you do what you can to restore his memories.”

“Gladly,” Vorlash’s grin split his head. The Void Shaper’s form wavered in the smoke as he pulled his concentration from the brazier for a time. “Ghouls can most easily get their memories back by finding the relics that they brought through with them, as was the case with you and your scythe,” Vorlash explained as his form solidified once more in the smoke. “By finding what was taken from him, this ghoul can most likely get his memory back.”

“Most likely?” William snarled.

“Of course, Gor’Havah,” Vorlash shrugged. “There is no certainty in such things. But the best way to assist your young ghoul to get his memories back would be to retrieve his possessions from the one who took them, Oslo the apostate. You can find him in the the Fortress of the Black-Bones.”

The words hit William like a hammer, much to Vorlash’s enjoyment. The Fortress of the Black-Bones was at the edge of the third city down in the Lower City itself and the Black-Bones weren't exactly the type that William usually consorted with. Getting Rayse’s possessions from either place was unlikely to be a pleasant experience, especially with the time constraints of the flesh bargain weighing upon him.

“I trust that we’re done here, Gor’Havah?” Vorlash asked, mockingly.

William waved him off, already lost in his own thoughts.

“Then I will see you in three days time,” Vorlash laughed, the smoke dissipating along with his form.

[Rayse Valentino]

He was walking along a path he couldn't see, the eternal darkness being kept away only barely by the flame glowing in the palm of his hand. He did not know his destination, but he knew it had to be a better place than here. There was a quiet desperation to his march, a loneliness that he kept inside so as not to panic. He felt like he had been here for hours, not making any progress and nothing to keep him company but the dimming flame.

Then, the flame was blown out by a strong gust, plummeting him into the black recesses of his mind. The silence of black did not last long, as the massive glowing crimson orbs appeared once more before him. The light shaved away his being, and he felt like his soul was separated from his body by the glare. He shielded his eyes, but nothing could stop the blinding light from burning his retinas. As he moved his hand away, he could see that the orbs were eyes inside of a massive skull. The skull had many individual strands of white hair hanging loosely from the scalp, and Rayse was paralyzed with fear. He thought this would be the end of him, that his journey had come to an end and he would be devoured. He imagined a never-ending torment that awaited him, and each second felt like hours. This nightmare was different from the one before. It was more pronounced, and the giant skull... talked.

"Tell me..." bellowed the skull. Its deep voice felt like jagged icicles in Rayse's ears.

Rayse meekly replied, "Tell you... what?"

"Tell me..." repeated the skull. "Name... True name..."

"True name? I- I don't know..."

A screech echoed in the air, causing Rayse to cover his ears in pain. As he did so, he looked down and saw that the black ground was starting to swallow him whole. He was already down to his knees. He tried to pull his legs out, but the effect was like quicksand, only hastening his descent. He continued to drop into the ground, unable to feel or see below the ripple, clawing at anything he could get a grip on, until his head was thrown under.

Rayse opened his eyes suddenly, finding himself lying on his side in Gor'Havah's hideout. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and wiped the drool off his mouth, feeling a distinct repeating thump in the back of his head. That fucker decked me! He immediately inspected his person, trying to see if anything was awry, but it didn't seem like Gor'Havah did anything to him. The elder ghoul was in sight, bending over to sort through a bin filled with various trinkets. The sight of his back was familiar, especially the patterns formed by the scars.

"Hey W-, er, Gor'Havah!" He stood up, pulling the birdman's beak from his belt and brandishing it like a knife. "I'm done playing your games. Why did you knock me out? How did you know the key was in my chest?"

Gor'Havah continued sifting through the trinkets, picking out a pair of goggles with red-tinted lenses and throwing them off to the side, "Void-Shaper told me."

"What?"

"They're the seers of this plane. Twist the nether into answers for your questions. I knocked you out because I had a meeting with an image of one and they don't like eavesdroppers."

"You goddess-damned..." Rayse started, but he couldn't feel the the dishonesty in Gor'Havah's voice. He had accepted more incredulous things than this. What's more, something about all this didn't add up. "So this Void-Shaper knew about the key? Then where's the door?"

Gor'Havah put away the bin and pulled up a large grinding stone, placing the blade of his scythe onto the stone, "He doesn't know. You can't twist the nether into keys and portals, so there's no telling where a door is until you actually find one."

"But he knew that a key was in my memories?"

Gor'Havah paused, now thinking that these weren't your average fresher questions, "...Yes."

"That doesn't sound very far from knowing what the key was and which portal it's connected to."

A memory started to surface in the back of Rayse's mind, reaching across his dormant memories pushing itself to the surface of his consciousness. The contractor grit his teeth and allowed the memory to overwhelm him.

--

"It could be anything. A knife, a candlestick, and not necessarily physical objects either. It could be a chant, a chant repeated three times, an emotion, a thought..."

--

Gor'Havah took the momentary lull in Rayse's rant to defend himself, "I asked where to find a key and he didn't know. Void-Shapers can't lie to people."

Pressing his free hand against his forehead, Rayse pushed back the sudden headache, "What if it can't be found? What if it could only be known?" A dreadful silence filled the small hideout. He put away the birdman's beak.

Gor'Havah broke the tension, "Look, we have the blasted key. And until you remember something worth giving a fuck about, you haven't earned the right to bitch." Rayse didn't respond, as he actually had very little idea about what he just said. "The best way to get your memories back is through your possessions. We're heading down to the Lower City, where the priest who dragged you into the Crematorium fled." Rayse couldn't disagree with this course of action, since he needed to ask the priest why he put the vial in his chest.

Rayse blinked, "Lower City? You mean the place with all the monsters? The fuck is he doing down there?"

"Don't know, don't care, but we need to get there soon because he's knee-deep in Black-Bone territory. To sum them up, they're crazy cannibalistic skeletons with a hate for all things fleshy."

"That's great. Got any more good news?"

"We're leaving. Take these." Gor'Havah threw the pair of goggles to Rayse, who caught it with confusion. "In the Lower City, the mist is so thick you won't see your hands in front of your face. These will let you see."

"I'm more concerned about the monsters."

"The Black-Bones are fairly close to the walls, we shouldn't run into any problems until then, hopefully."

"Hopefully?"

Gor'Havah ignored him and made his way to the exit. He only had three days to do this, and Rayse's words weighed heavily on his mind. He may be in Vorlash's trap, but he had no choice but to press on at this point. He hid his resentment and bitterness in the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand, as he had done since becoming the revenant.

[Rayse Valentino]

Before they left, Rayse tried to improve the absurd situation of his clothing or lack thereof. Gor'Havah had a few collected scraps of clothing, including various footwear he tried out, so Rayse found a pair of grey boots that fit him. His torn jeans were replaced with cloth trousers that had the color completely faded out of them. They were far too large for him, so he had to roll up the ends and tie wrap them up with torn scraps of cloth. There were no shirts that fit him, so the alternative was going without or wearing dirty old robes. Instead, he opted to rip up the robes and tie it to one of Gor'Havah's spare traveling bags, using the cloth as a shoulder strap. Before they left for good, Rayse had to ask if there were any smokes around, and unfortunately Gor'Havah replied in the negative.

After making sure no one would see him leave, Gor'Havah motioned for Rayse to crawl out, and they found the Warrens a much different place. The eerie quietness was replaced with distant yelling, shuffling of creatures underfoot, and the air was thick with the stale blood of the undead. Gor'Havah figured that the Servitors subdued the Lower City monster, and the news caused the Warrens to resume its bloodthirsty nature.

"After a Lower City monster attack, everyone is caught out of position," Gor'Havah explained. "The gangs will be vying for territory. The good news is that means Deckard has bigger problems than us, the bad news is we have bigger problems than Deckard."

Rayse feigned a look of understanding, but his true face held a blank expression. The experienced tone of Gor'Havah's words bothered him, how all this seemed so common to the demonic ghoul. When Gor'Havah started moving out of the area, Rayse took the journal out of his bag and began flipping through it to get to know who he was working with.

Why leave?

That was the question I used to ask myself. When I was flung into this plane, my demonic form became affixed to me as if it was who I was all along. My true nature was revealed, and with it came power and finally, the means with which to accomplish the goals I had before. Sure, there are friends and enemies alike who I would have liked to see defeated for the last time, but here true strength is respected. The way I wanted to act back home is not only the norm here, but encouraged. I can look beyond the disgusting way in which I must survive, the unpleasant odors and the ugly residents of the plane, if not for my lust of challenging myself. Even the fated foray into the Lower City with a few other ghouls that had most of us die to the beguiler, or whatever it was called, made me feel at the height of my awareness, forcing me to strive even harder for strength and survival.

The answer is simple: The nightmares. Each time I sleep I am reminded that I do not belong, that I am an unwelcome stranger to this land. I never thought a simple bad dream would get to me, but these go beyond your average nocturnal hallucinations. They feed on something within me, the bestial nature that I thought I discarded back home, and they get worse and worse. It's gotten to the point where I close my eyes for a few minutes and when I open them, I have gone through an entire cycle of torment. No matter how hard I suppress it, the fear strikes at my subconscious and assaults me during my waking hours. I have been forced to remove myself from the equation, to step outside my shell and assume a form of unfeeling monotony, or else risk slipping into insanity. Every now and then I lash out, but the control I felt when I first entered the plane has been sundered.

It's as if I'm still a slave to that damn rod. I can't live my life being controlled by others, so I have to leave by any means necessary. I don't even care about going home anymore, just anywhere but here.

The nightmares... Rayse could remember bits and pieces from the dreams he had so far, but he couldn't remember if they were as bad as Gor'Havah described. He felt like he was getting a better grasp of Gor'Havah through his writing, but only as a man who felt little and whose actions were purposeful. On one hand, it meant that the elder ghoul likely did what he said he would do, but it also made his intentions beyond the obvious completely unreadable. At least it allowed the contractor to take his words at face value.

They moved at a brisk pace through the dim alleyways and thin streets, scaring away various critters that always managed to jump into some crevice before Rayse could get a good look at them. Some of them appeared to be the size of his fist, others were much larger. He knocked over a large rock along his path once that revealed a Khuulite tentacle that slunk back into the shadows as soon as the light hit it. This place truly earned the reputation of being the graveyard of buildings, with many of the streets being formed merely because they were between junkyards of ruined houses stacked on top of each other. Some of the buildings at their sides had some rhyme and reason to them, as if they were meant to look like they were cobbled together from many designs. More than once Rayse's pace slowed when he looked up at the sky, that swirling mass of red and black. It occurred to him that it looked no different from when he emerged from The Sanitarium.

Rayse looked ahead and asked, "It's been getting dark for a while now, is it going to be night soon?"

With his back still turned to the younger ghoul, Gor'Havah replied, "It will never be night. We are in a state of neverfall, where night never falls and day never rises."

"Then how do you even tell what time it is?"

"There are observable cycles to the Red Maelstrom. That is how time is measured here. A full rotation of the swirling mass in the center takes around five days."

It wasn't long until the thugs of the Warrens started accosting them, using the temporary chaos to instigate terror and robbery. Gor'Havah mostly dispatched them with ease, and with his new weapon even Rayse helped fend them off. The problem was that it was hard to tell whether or not they were ghouls. For now, he figured they were not because they were weak, but that wasn't enough for him. How could he know before having to fight them? As they turned a corner, Gor'Havah stopped as he saw a man leaning against a pillar in the middle of the road. He wore a long coat with no shirt, and a pair of short swords hung at each side of his belt. His short hair ended in spikes on his grey head, and his eyes had black pupils with white rings around them. Unlike the other adversaries they encountered since leaving the hideout, this time there was reason for pause.

Rayse couldn't see why this was necessary, "Do you know him?"

"No," came a reply in a hushed tone.

"Uh, right," Rayse mumbled. He doesn't know him, but he's being cautious? Does he... does he know that it's a ghoul? But how?

The man looked at Gor'Havah with a cheerful grin, "Nice scythe. You must be Gor'Havah. And what's that behind you, a new ghoul?"

Rayse quickly added, "How did you--"

"It's written all over your face, fresher," the man interrupted. "Now, what would the high and mighty Gor'Havah want with you?"

"This is Vreela's old territory," said Gor'Havah, pulling out his scythe. "I take it you're a member of his gang."

"Former member, thanks to you," said the man. "Since The Ghoul Queen has decided to be the only ghoul organization in the Warrens, the rest of us have no choice but to join her or be independent. Me? I'd rather be on my own than another one of her lap dogs."

Rayse kept staring at him, trying to figure out how Gor'Havah knew he was a ghoul. Was there something about his appearance? It couldn't be, he didn't really look any different from the zombies they fought along the way. His skin looked hard and rotten like everyone else, so what was it? Maybe it wasn't how he looked. The man stopped leaning and took a few steady steps toward Gor'Havah, his fingers twitching with anticipation. Rayse watched every step, saw the look in his eyes, and remembered the look he received from the birdman. Unlike that time, he felt that there was something behind those eyes. The emptiness wasn't there. Also, the man's movement wasn't as rigid, his gait having a style of his own. It was then that Rayse realized the difference, it was memories. The corpse-born had no memories of their previous lives. Everything they learned was in the Nameless City. A person with memories had a familiarity in their eyes, where they scanned their minds for any evidence that they had seen something before. They walked with a style that implied a subconscious history of learning how to walk. They grew into that body. Every little action showed evidence, and it finally became apparent to Rayse.

"So is it vengeance you want?" Gor'Havah grunted. "I don't have time for this."

The man was surprised, "You don't? I thought you were here to finish the job." He cracked his neck, backing up into the pillar and leaning upon it once more. "Then leave me to my freedom."

"This is freedom?" Rayse wondered. It looked like a dump to him.

"Of course it is, compared to the chaos of the Lower City and the order of the Upper. Up there, you live a regimented life and never do anything that wasn't preordained. Not a lick of free will, despite the paradise everyone claims it to be. Here, I can do whatever I want. I have control. You know, I like you fresher. I'm Sa'eed, remember that and if you live long enough maybe I won't kill you on sight."

Rayse didn't appreciate the arrogance, but escape mattered more than him than the words of someone doomed to spend the rest of his life here.

[Revenant]

A cloud of moodiness hung over William’s head, shadowing his every movement with increasing darkness. His attitude had been steadily sinking since breaking contact with Vorlash, but it took meeting Sa’eed to properly put things into reference.

”Fools,” he mentally spat, taking some minor satisfaction in lashing out to send an errant brick skittering down the path in front of him. Now that the Lower City Beast had been captured, the squabbling hordes would descend on Vreela’s freshly opened territory like plague rats, working their way into through all of the vile, unseen cracks that the Warrens could hold. Sa’eed had done well to claim a chunk of his old boss’ territory for his own, but holding it would be an entirely different matter.

“Chain themselves and call it freedom,” he growled, his voice low and rumbling.

“Hmn?” Rayse asked, not catching William’s words.

“It’s this place,” William gestured, waving his arm at the grey dingy stone squatting around them like broken, withered monoliths. “It grabs you and pulls you under, like being stuck in a tar pit. You spend so much time fighting for scraps and clawing for the most meager survival that it becomes your world.”

William paused, slinking up against a building with a gesture for Rayse to do the same. They hunkered against the building, unbreathing, still, and silent. Ahead of them, only a dozen or so paces away, a pack of zombies spilled into the tunnel. The scabs were numerous, both better armed and armored than William and Rayse, and they moved on careful alert. Cold, unfeeling eyes scanned everything in the tunnel with a critical gaze, searching for any sign of hostility or resistance. Seeing none, the moved swiftly on their way.

“See the scabs I can understand,” William spoke up after the last zombie had moved out of sight, continuing as if nothing had happened in the interim. “They’re dead where they came from and got nothing left for them but this hellhole.”

“Who were those guys?” Rayse interrupted, nodding at the path the zombies had taken when he and William passed it by.

“Huh? Who?” William looked back, blinking in confusion. “Oh,” he caught Rayse’s meaning. “That was one of Deckard’s heavier war parties. Out on the prowl in the Beast’s aftermath, I’d wager.”

“Are we in danger?” Rayse asked, looking a little more concerned.

“In the Warrens? Always. From them? Hell yes.” William shrugged as if it were no big deal. “But it looks to me like they’re heading out to claim a bit of open territory rather than searching for us. We should be safe enough as long as they don’t loop back and we keep moving our cold asses forward.”

“I thought ghouls were stronger than zombies, even in numbers,” Rayse said. “We’ve taken out plenty of them already since leaving your place.”

“You’re right as a general rule,” William stopped and turned to face Rayse to add weight to his words. “But think of that thing that we saw earlier, and now think of people like you and me who live in worlds where those things are plentiful.”

Rayse’s eyes lit up.

“There’s always someone bigger and badder than you down here,” William finished, then started walking again. Silence once more reigned between the two ghouls as they dutifully marched through the moldering streets. The rustling sound of flipping paper reached William as Rayse turned his attentions once more to the journal that William had given him. It brought a grim levity to William’s cold, unfeeling heart to hear the sound, since the journal itself was useless unless the rotter could somehow read Althanian common. Still, the man’s questioning nature and unwillingness to leave any stone unturned reminded William of his own actions upon waking in the Dead Piles. Despite himself, the revenant found that he was becoming a bit fond of the man who called himself Vincent.

[Revenant]

“So this fortress is in the Lower City, right?” Rayse asked after enough time had passed in contemplative silence. William grunted an affirmative, his eyes never ceasing their loping scan of the surrounding ruins. Rayse too was observant, keeping a close watch on the side corridors and broken edges that the duo passed for signs of trouble. Unsure of exactly what to be threatened by in this foreign place, he just assumed it was safer to keep a watch out for everything so as not to be caught unaware.

“So tell me about this Lower City place,” Rayse continued, figuring correctly that William would be somewhat unforward with his information. “The Warrens here is in pretty close competition to be the worst place I've ever been stuck in but I’m guessing that the Lower City and its giant blade slugs make this seem almost cozy in comparison.”

That brought a chuckle to the stoic ghoul’s sour visage. “More than you know,” he began. “I suppose it’s not too much worse than the Warrens if you stay in the inner ring. I’ve only been down there a handful of times myself, mostly heading down when I was on better terms with Meredith. But the further you go from the tower the worse it gets.”

William paused his roving to look back at Rayse to add weight to his words. “Exponentially worse, rotter. From what I’ve heard the mist gets so thick at the border to the second ring that even those goggles are useless. And I ain’t never even heard a braggart claim to have seen the third ring.”

“So what are these rings?” Rayse asked. “Territory markings or something?”

“Something like that, I suppose,” William shrugged. “Long, long time before I got here there were four cities, and even longer before that there were five. Perhaps there were six even before that, or seven. Who knows? Point is, you've see what the Warrens here is like. It’s not just the border between the Lower and Middle Cities physically, it’s also the metaphorical border or some nonsense bullshit. Enough time goes by, enough expansion by this chaos, and the Lower City expands, swallowing whatever’s above it.”

“Like a slow feeding snake,” Rayse said and William nodded. “So no one has ever been to the third ring then?” William nodded again.

“Interesting,” Rayse murmured to himself, his thoughts turning to prison walls.

“Anyways,” William said, gesturing for Rayse to direct his attention forward, “We’re almost to the tunnel that’ll take us to the Lower City. Keep your mouth shut, your eyes open, and be ready to follow my lead. Got it?” Rather than respond, Rayse nodded to signal his understanding, his hand already on the makeshift beak weapon tucked into his belt.

Creeping up slowly upon the tunnel entrance, William peered sideways from a pile of broken rubble, his eyes searching less for what waited to guard the entrance to the tunnel and more for what lurked in the shadows, just out of plain sight. As with every tunnel leading to the Lower City, a quartet of Servitors stood rigid guard around the entrance. As imposing as the massive figures were, they held little concern for William unless he had somehow managed to acquire the stigma of Lower City creature since his last run-in with them. An army of ghouls and zombies could slaughter each other in front of the Servitors and you wouldn't see the slightest movement from the guardians. But even bring the tiniest, most harmless creature up from below and you’d be a Lost One before you could register what was happening.

Not surprisingly, the Servitors weren't the creatures guarding this particular tunnel. Owning control of a tunnel from the Warrens was a pretty big mark of distinction since they were so few and far between and this was one of the few that William knew of that belonged to the lovely Ghoul Queen. Meredith, he reminded himself, wasn't exactly on the friendliest terms with him anymore, but as far as he knew she hadn't sworn to his death as Deckard had. He expected trouble from the four ghoul guards who were lounging surprisingly lazily around the tunnel since it wouldn't be any fun to allow Rayse and him to pass through unmolested after all. William scanned the dim rubble a second time but couldn't see if there were any others lurking around.

“Looks like a trap,” Rayse murmured after taking a scan of the surroundings on him own. William grunted an affirmation and the two looked at each other for a second before William shrugged slightly and stepped out into the open.

“Look alive boys, we got us some fresh meat,” the lead ghoul called as soon as William and Rayse made their appearance. A trio of whistling catcalls answered in reply as the ghouls languidly made their way to their feet. The entire scene struck William as oddly lenient, and the Revenant expected to feel the sharp bite of a blade in his back at any moment.

“We’re not looking for any trouble,” William called out, stopping a respectful distance away. The air before him whistled as he brought his scythe up and slapped it to rest on his shoulder. Though he felt as nervous as a youth on his first hunt he braced himself rigidly, showing nothing to the ghouls but the very paradigm of self-confident composure. A quick glance from the corner of his eye told him that Rayse had done the exact same thing.

And another mark for the quick learner, William mentally nodded his approval.

“Shame you ain’t looking for trouble,” the head ghoul chuckled his reply. “We could use some excitement out here. None of the ruckus that’s been going around made it out our way and we've been lonesome since the rest of our boys scurried off to stake a claim for the mistress.”

“Rest of your group?” William cocked a disbelieving eyebrow that the ghoul would so freely give up the information that there were no reinforcements. Either he was being played hard by these tunnel wardens or these four had something up their sleeves.

Noting the look, the head ghoul chuckled again and pulled a fleshy pouch from his a strap on his belt. “Please keep thinkin’ what you be thinkin’ over there; that you two’s trouble four us four poor little ghouls. As I said, we could use the excitement. Wouldn't be every day that I’d get to put an end to the great Gor’Havah, now would it? Mistress might even take me off this shit hole assignment.” William eyed the pouch in the ghoul’s hand with alternating interest and unease. It was a soft, bulbous thing that appeared to shift and writhe beneath the ghoul’s fingers. A quick scan showed him at least two others like that in possession of the other wardens, which could very much mean trouble.

“Bile pouch?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could master. The lead ghoul nodded with a stupid, vicious grin. “Well then,” William shrugged, never taking his eyes from the pulsing object. “It appears that you've got the upper hand here. What’s Meredith’s toll for using this tunnel?”

If the bile pouch had made him wary of the situation, the answer made him downright skittish.

“No trouble then,” the ghoul sighed, tucking the pouch back into his belt. “Oh well, I suppose there goes our last chance for fun. Ain't no toll for you today Gor'Havah. The Mistress had a feeling you’d be coming and told us that she’s awaiting you and your guest with open arms.”

“You've got to be kidding me,” William said, his composure breaking as he sought once again to search for any sign of others around them.

“On me honor,” the lead ghoul tittered, answered by a backup chorus from the others as they all resumed their positions. Seeing that Rayse and William weren't moving the ghouls burst out laughing. “Off with you then,” the lead ghoul gestured grandly towards the tunnel.

Unsure if he and Rayse were about to be assassinated, but knowing that they had little in the way of other options, William motioned for Rayse to follow and made his way towards the tunnel. Three feet from the entrance, much too far in to have any chance of retreat, one of the wardens leapt suddenly from his lounging position and landed next to the pair with a shriek. Rayse and William both jumped at the movement, wheeling and bringing their weapons up only to be greeted by laughter and a placating gesture from the offending ghoul.

“Just kidding,” the rotter laughed, waving them off. “Sorry, honestly I am. Cross my heart and hope to be lost.”

“Seems we got at least a little fun,” the lead ghoul called out in reply eliciting another chorus of mocking laughter which followed William and Rayse as they scurried into the tunnel at top speed.

“What the fuck was that thing and why did you go all stiff when you saw it?” Rayse asked after the last of the mocking laughter had faded from earshot. “Well, stiffer than normal.”

William ignored the joke, keeping his attention focused on the dull red slope fading into the mist beneath them. “Bile pouch. Some sort of slime and maggots excreted by a Lower City beast that someone has chained up somewhere. Not sure what the pouches themselves are made of, but they hide the Lower City presence from the Sentinels as long as they’re bound up tight. Toss one onto someone with enough force to pop it though, and the Sentinels go all berserk trying to destroy the Lower City taint on you. They’re not usually very discriminating about it either.”

“So it’s a good thing that the one on that asshole ghoul’s belt somehow managed to find its way into my hand then?” Rayse asked with mock innocence, holding up the bile pouch which he had lifted off their tormentor.

William paused, literally brought up short by the sight of the pouch. A genuine smile stole across his face for the first time since the two had met and he gave a single barking laugh.

“If we weren't getting out of this hellhole I’d say you have a bright future here rotter.”

[Rayse Valentino]

Gor'Havah was right.

The first thing that Rayse saw in the light was nothing. An opaque redness that made him experience for the first time what it was like to be blind. He knew his vision was getting worse as he was going down the tunnel, but he never expected this. Bringing his bag around, he felt around for the goggles within and pulled them out, placing them over his eyes delicately. The effect was instantaneous; the mist was completely gone, replaced by an environment devoid of all color. The contrast between his new location and the Warrens was staggering. No longer was he surrounded by mountains of rubble, giant buildings stitched together by the crushing force of the nether. Instead, he felt like he was in the town center of a mountain village, with stone houses gathered around the main street protruding from the tunnel. None of the houses were larger than a single story, but often they were mere frameworks of buildings; stone shells of what used to be homes. The tops of these buildings were completely missing, likely torn off by Lower City beasts in pursuit of prey. While the Warrens were full of unlife, with critters and zombies never letting the dust fully settle, this town looked like it had been abandoned a long time ago. The ground below was cracked beyond repair, its consistency no longer solid but sandy. He felt like he was standing on one of the salt flats of Northern Salvar.

In front of him, he saw Gor'Havah's standing at the ready, the elder ghoul's muscles tensed for some unseen threat that Rayse had not noticed yet. Gor'Havah was gray as well, a sight that made Rayse guess at the properties of the goggles. They remove the entire spectrum of red from my vision... He looked up and his theory seemed to hold strong, as the Red Maelstrom was now the Gray Maelstrom. A loud thumping sound brought his vision back down, with Gor'Havah assuming a fighting stance with his scythe drawn. Rayse scrambled to get his beak-dagger out, although he doubted he would be much help if whatever this was got Gor'Havah this antsy. From behind one of the stone houses, two large arms came crashing down onto the ground, the fists leaving imprints. For a moment, Rayse thought he was encountering a snow gorilla from Salvar, until the rest of the creature appeared in his view. It was much larger than any gorilla Rayse had ever heard of, but its face was distinctly human-like. It looked like a male, wearing a huge pair of pants and a shirt that looked like two large pieces of cloth stitched together at the center. The contractor remembered that he was now in the Lower City, the place that none of the creatures in the Warrens would ever fight over, and he was tempted to go back into the tunnel, but the thought perished when he saw Gor'Havah lower his scythe.

"Stomphowler," he said to Rayse. "One of Meredith's."

"So, not a monster?" asked Rayse.

"No."

"Didn't expect you to come back down here, Gor'Havah," the stomphowler said in a voice so eloquent and classy that Rayse thought the goggles were distorting his vision. "Are you bringing this new one to mother?"

"Didn't expect you to be alive, Zid'artha," Gor'Havah replied. "Would of thought you'd get yourself eaten by now."

"No such luck, I'm afraid," Zid sniffed. "We've heard of your actions up above. I'm afraid you're no longer a member in mother's court. You are still free to seek an audience, but if you go back up to the Middle City she offers you no protection from scabs and ghouls alike."

"That's fine. I'm not heading there. Let's go." He motioned to Rayse, and then began walking away from the stomphowler.

Rayse was still a bit taken back, but managed to move one foot in front of the other to follow the elder ghoul. It didn't take long to reach the edge of the ruined town, and beyond its structures Rayse learned what it meant to be in the Lower City. Rolling dunes of gray, the ground below giving way completely to sand, and deafening silence. He was in a desert. The massive wall was to his right, its height incalculable.

Gor'Havah looked back and saw that Rayse was still on edge, so he assured him, "Contrary to popular belief, there aren't a whole lot of Lower City beasts down here, and doubly so if ghouls like Zid'artha are lingering about."

"Why aren't there more people here, then?"

"It's a long story, but the short version is that it's still more dangerous than the Warrens. You might get a Lower City beast once every few cycles up there, but down here you see them more frequently. There's also nowhere to hide from them, as you can see."

Rayse scratched his head, putting the beak-dagger away and following him out of town.

[Rayse Valentino]

Rayse took a deep breath, once again wishing he had a smoke. He kicked up sand as he walked, seeing no end to the invisible path that they took toward the Black-Bones. Nothing could be seen in three directions except for more of the desert-like climate, with the last direction leading up to the massive wall of the Middle City that could be seen no matter how far away they were from it. Despite the low possibility of being jumped by a Lower City monster, for the first time Rayse felt as though he had some time to think. His life had taken a lot of twists and turns, especially today, but was it really the most dangerous thing he had done? He had to address the elephant in the room, namely the fact that he came here intentionally. If the Void-Shaper was right about him knowing the way out, then no doubt he came here with a plan.

Why? What could possibly be worth being nearly incinerated, frozen to death, and then attacked by the kinds of things he saw today? Magical artifacts? No way, even he wasn't that insane. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Being all philosophical about it wasn't going to get him out of here any faster either. Since he had this moment of relative peace, he had to get something off his chest before they found Oslo, but in a way that didn't arouse suspicion.

"How long do you think I was a sleeper for?"

"Not long," Gor'Havah replied. "Void-Shaper told me you were fresh."

"Do they usually find Lost Ones in the Dead Piles?"

"There aren't any. Only sleepers there. I didn't expect any Order members to comb through your belongings though, that's against their religion."

"Yeah, that and bringing me to the Crematorium."

Gor'Havah stopped in his tracks, turning around to face Rayse, "What?"

"Void-Shaper didn't tell you?"

"No."

"That's where I woke up, near that big fire pit. I wandered around, they kicked me out, and Deckard found me." Gor'Havah was silent. He didn't expect Oslo to be this much of a traitor. While the thought disturbed him, Rayse asked, "So how long were you a sleeper?"

"...Don't know."

"And, uh, how long have you been hanging around for?"

"It's hard to tell time around here, but at least a couple of years."

Years?! Rayse put his hand up to his mouth in thought. He couldn't believe it, was he wrong about Gor'Havah? It if was anyone else right now, he would be convinced that this was a lie. Two years of searching for a way out of here... it felt unreal. Until now, the gravity of his situation never occurred to him. Where the hell was he?

"Let's go," said Gor'Havah. "The last thing I want is to be eaten because we got a bit chatty."