Hello everyone. This is the end. The end of this year and a half long project that I have strove very hard to make real! With that said, my lack of character development and plot planning severely hurt Whispers, and while it wasn't bad, per se, I could've done far better. Obviously, dialogue can get repetitive too. These are all things I aim to fix in a month and a half when I begin the next part of the Simulation Arc, which I have already titled Dusk! It will be a bit of a wait, like I just said, so don't expect anything within the coming weeks. I will plan each chapter out ahead of time and ensure that there are fewer plot holes, better development, less filler and more flow.

Now, with Whispers complete, I would like to ask anyone who leaves a review to, optionally of course, tell me what your three favorite chapters were, and tell me what your three least favorite chapters were. This gives me an idea of what readers enjoy, and what they don't, and can help me streamline chapters in the future. Also optionally, name your three favorite characters and your three least favorite characters, and reasons about why are also optional! However, any and all feedback you leave really does help, and I will always take good, sensible constructive criticism to improve myself.
This is a very long finale and I'm quite proud of it! I hope you all enjoy, and I look forward to seeing Dusk develop over the coming weeks! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and supported me throughout the length of Whispers, too. I really do appreciate the support and criticism you have provided.

VVVVV

No more overtures. No more prologue. No more rising score to lead to the climax. The time had come.

James Kleiner stood with his men upon the battlements as the skeletons began to move. Siege weapons had been brought up but he was not about to fear machinery of wood and iron; they weren't likely to be accurate, anyway, and had to fire across the huge width of the Delphos River in order to hit the walls of Milltown. He prayed that, in the event their stones hit their marks, the wood would hold.

"Nock!" the first order came. Arrows were practically useless at this range, and even more useless against an enemy that could only be killed if hit in the head by the piercing missiles, but it was better than nothing. A show of force, perhaps, although who they were showing off to was anybody's guess.

"My Lord, they're going to try and cross the bridge," Sergeant Shen pointed out. The legion had begun to flow, groups of them breaking apart into cohorts as battle orders were given in some guttural, bestial language that rattled the dark air of the early morning.

"Draw!" The sounds of bowstrings becoming taut rang in Kleiner's ear as the company of militia bowmen around him prepared their deadly delivery.

"Let them. That's the plan," Kleiner said, watching as several cohorts of skeletons, marching in perfect order like automatons, began to cross the bridge. Did they know? Perhaps they were springing the trap as a first move, just to get it over with. They could spare the foot soldiers, for sure.

Perhaps they didn't know, though.

"Loose!"

With a hundred sharp twangs a hundred flint-headed arrows launched into the gray sky, arcing over the brown waters and sharp rocks of the riverside below. They all landed, but he did not see a single enemy fall. It was a show of force, and a pathetic force at that. Better than nothing, he mused. The orders came again.

All across the wall arrows flew from parapets and towers, alighting onto the enemy side of the water. A few certainly hit their mark, either fired by precise sharpshooters or making a headshot by sheer dumb luck. It was not enough, not nearly enough, and when the skeleton archers began lining up on the other side of the river, Kleiner knew it was time to hunker down. He gave the orders out but knew casualties would still be taken.

"Into the tower. I will stay until the stones start coming," he told Shen, who had been displeased with his decision to remain on the walls as the exchange began. The sergeant nodded grimly, passing by three crossbowmen taking cover behind makeshift shields as arrows began to rain en masse on the walls.

The plan had been relatively simple; ensconced behind the palisades of the city, and protected by the wide river, Milltown was able to defend itself, at least for a short period of time. The engineer whom Kleiner had entrusted so many details to had managed to come through despite a lack of resources, time, and manpower; the explosives trap on the bridge, crude but effective, was in perfect place and the walls had all be shored up to prevent a collapse should stones be aimed at the base. Siege engines had been built too, but they were crude, slow and manned by untrained personnel; it would only be a token defense, but better than absolutely nothing.

"They're going to hit us really hard in a few minutes, my lord," the tower's garrison captain said as James sought shelter in the confines of the building.

"Siege weapons," he said, agreeing with the captain. "Keep your men safe. Let them trade arrow fire, but nothing risky."

"What do you mean by that?" the captain asked, but did not receive an answer. Kleiner turned to Sergeant Shen instead.

"Go and fetch Sergeant Connor and Badger. Have them move all companies of militia spearmen from the streets to the eastern gate. We'll redeploy from there," he ordered. Shen bowed and dashed down the narrow wooden stairs to ground level, rushing to follow suit.

"My Lord, my orders-"

"Have the archers hold their fire, for now. That's a better idea," Kleiner said, changing his original plan. "They're crossing the bridge. Just hunker down and wait."

The captain nodded, bowed hastily and shouted orders. All down the line the call for "hold fire!" could be heard and the twang of bowstrings stopped as arrows continued to pour down onto the battlements from the other side of the river.

Kleiner was privileged to have an excellent view of the bridge as it came down. The fuse had already been lit by a few daring scouts who were booking it back to shore, dodging arrows as they ran. One of them went down but the other two dashed through the gates as they closed, leaving the wooden bridge to its fate as cohorts of skeletons armed with axes and swords dashed across. A battering ram followed closely behind them, borne onwards by brutish zombie pigmen.

A few seconds now, and the gunpowder would light. Kleiner grasped the wooden railing of the arrow slit as he watched, counting the seconds until the blast. He wasn't disappointed.

Maybe they had been expecting it. Maybe they hadn't. But they'd thrown their vanguard forward anyway, and it disappeared in a flash of brilliant flame and a sharp crack that blossomed into a deafening roar. The center span of the bridge was obliterated in the explosion, and jagged chunks of wood and wild spans of rope were thrown into the air along with bits of bone, chunks of metal, weapons and fragments of stone. Kleiner felt himself knocked back by the shockwave as it tore through the air and into the walls, sending men sprawling and reeling. He recovered quickly but felt woozy as he stumbled back to the arrow slit.

The western portion of the bridge that wasn't immediately destroyed began collapsing, falling into the river piece by piece as it lost its supports and came under the monstrous influence of gravity. The battering ram stopped in its tracks as the eastern portion began to come down, tossing the skeletons that remained on it into the water.

Another few seconds later, as the smoke billowed into the air and Kleiner recovered from the initial shock of the blast, the battering ram followed suit, collapsing into the water and taking its crew with it. The howls of the pigmen shrieked in his ears as they burned in the water, thrashing in the brown murk as wood and skeletons fell down upon them from above.

The rest of the eastern portion began to collapse and the supports toppled into the water. Already rotted and cracked, they had been critically weakened by the blast and gave up the ghost within the span of a minute, tumbling into the brackish river below. Very little remained of the bridge and as the smoke cleared Kleiner could see skeletons, mobile but unable to swim, sinking to the bottom. Flotsam began to flow down the river, lighter pieces of debris floating on top of the water, and the heavier beams of wood and the supports sank, filling the river.

Kleiner watched as the skeletons on the other side began to reform, following someone's orders. More of those guttural shouts from the opposite side; he saw black figures racing around...no, sprinting. No...just...leaving one place and arriving at another. Teleportation, he knew, but it was still difficult to comprehend the mere possibility. It was not at all natural.

"It worked!" someone shouted, their voice hoarse and weak. A few ragged cheers rose from the wall as arrows continued to fly down, but they were isolated. Most eyes were now turning towards the constructs coming up; stone throwers and boats, massive pontoons as well, being pushed towards the shoreline en masse.

"My Lord, it worked," the captain gasped, returning from his post. "We-"

"No time to celebrate yet. They'll be finding other ways to get across," Kleiner warned. He knew they would; the bridge trap had only been a temporary measure, designed to block and disrupt the enemy. They had plenty of resources to take the hit.

Connor and Badger would have to be ready for combat, he knew. It was time to get down from the walls and onto the ground. Kleiner had the privilege of seeing one of the crude bolt throwers the engineers had erected smash a column of skeleton archers into pieces before he departed, passing companies of idle archers and terrified recruits as he rushed down to ground level. The dull thud of the stone throwers echoed in the dim interior of the tower and as the first missiles impacted the walls Kleiner could feel the shock reverberate through the railings of the stairs as he reached terra firma. Somewhere wood splintered and cracked and somebody screamed.

The air was thick with dust and dirt as columns of militia spearmen and halberdiers marched through the streets, heading for the eastern gate. If the enemy reached the shores of the city they would certainly target the palisades at Mill Lane, which were low enough to climb over, and the gate, which was always a city's weak point. Kleiner and Shen had thought this through thoroughly; they knew where men would be crucial and where they would be a waste. The archers on the wall were simply a distraction; it would be the spearmen, the halberdiers, the hammers and mauls that would do the dirty work.

From an aerial view of the city, one could see every detail on the ground below, and in the air as well. Most important were the six tiny black shapes on the southern horizon, barely visible to the naked eye and almost appearing immobile to the casual observer. They were a critical part of the fight but not quite yet.

Stones rose and fell through the air, cast by giant pieces of machinery and aimed with scattershot intent. They hit towers and walls and smashed into the fragile walls of mills and shacks, blasting them to pieces. Parts of the wall had begun to suffer damage, the wood splintering and breaking and collapsing, causing injuries and at least nine deaths in the process. A single stone smashed through six archers, killing them all instantly and reducing them to basic matter. The defenders at the palisades were coming under heavier fire, their four-foot tall fences unable to provide enough cover for them. A dozen fell with arrows gouging sharp breaks in their armor and clothing, spilling their blood upon the gravel and the wooden jetties around the mills. Four were smashed by giant rocks slung across the river, their bones broken and organs crushed by the weight.

Boats were set to float and filled with skeletons, armored in black iron and malachite, then pushed off into the river to head for the other side. A pontoon was being erected even as the smoke from the bridge explosion still cleared, with the intent of rebuilding the passage across the river at the site of the old crossing. Arrows flew through the air as the companies of skeleton archers poured missiles over the water and onto the battlements. The great legion divided into cohorts and centuries as Endermen captains, teleporting from place to place or riding on great drakes with jet black scales and cold lavender eyes, rode from century to century and barked orders in their guttural, primal tongue. Inside the city's companies of men desperately rushed to their positions, all the while feeling their stomachs churn and their balls tighten into knots and their brains hurl thousands of doomsday scenarios at them as they fell under the influence of black fear.

Outside the walls starving vagrants tore at the wood of the gates, clawing desperately at the thick oak in useless attempts to gain entrance. The refugee camps were in uproar as hundreds fled into the countryside west of Milltown, fearing the worst from the invaders. Dozens gathered around gates and tried to break in; three were rewarded with a single pot of steaming, writhing boiling oil, which melted their scalps and bored into their skulls as they collapsed onto the ground, shrieking hysterically. Chaos ruled inside the camps as less savory individuals took advantage of war to bring their own lush fantasies to life.

A merchant in his tent was sent upon and beaten to death by a dozen angry men, screaming obscenities at him and accusing him of price gouging as they broke his body. A few starving young boys, ragged and filthy, stole into abandoned tents and looted food and goods, making off with their ill-earned spoils and yelling at any who tried to accost them. Several men set upon a hapless young girl and, forcing her naked body into the ash and mud, raped her until her tortured vagina bled, ignoring her pleas for mercy.

Thousands ran. Thousands more prepared to fight. Death was at hand.

"I have sixteen hundred ready to hold the gate," Sergeant Shen reported as he gathered the sergeants and corporals and their companies. Hundreds of men double-timed it towards the gate, knowing that it would be the focal point of the attack.

"I want at least two hundred diverted to the palisades, they'll land there and try to enter the city from the rocks," Kleiner ordered as Sergeant Connor, surprisingly gamely, led a company of spears forward.

"They'll struggle over the rocks there. You think we can make good use of archers?" Shen asked.

"We can try. Have the archers continue to hunker down but I want fire returned once that pontoon is within range. Let them taste it," Kleiner ordered. They had plenty of arrows for now.

The orders were barked out and archer fire returned once more, the twang of bows joining the din once more. Lines of spears and ranks of hammers were being lined up at the gate, the frightened young men being positioned by corporals desperate to maintain order and cohesion despite the rampant fear.

Kleiner watched them line up but was interrupted by someone crying his name. He was approached by a ragged young boy, no older than fourteen, who ran down the street towards him, face flushed and long hair swirling around his shoulders.

"M'lord Kleiner!" he called, his accent thickly English. "Sergeant Mikal...sends to tell you that they are coming," the boy said. Kleiner nodded brusquely and dismissed the messenger, who paused to catch his breath and then sprinted back down the street. They were coming, and hopefully soon.

"Mikal better get his ass up front quick," Shen snapped, coming back down from the walls. "They're making progress. We're doing fine for right now, the walls are damaged but holding, but once they breach the gate and hit the shore we'll be hard pressed."

"I know, I know," Kleiner replied, frustrated that Shen was delivering the truth so ominously. They had planned for this; they knew what was going to happen. "That's why we're bringing them up. The militia can hold them off for a bit if necessary without support."

"Not for long," Shen grumbled.

Sergeant Connor, normally a black-humored, cynical bastard, was barking orders with a professional tone and carried himself like a man ready for duty, a full 180-degree turn from his normal personality. Kleiner was inwardly glad that the sergeant was able to put his cynical, pessimistic nature aside briefly for the fight, but he said nothing, simply observed the troops forming up while casualty and action reports rolled in from couriers.

Very few paid attention to the black forms on the southern horizon growing closer, growing larger and taking shape. The focus was all on the pontoon, continuing its furious pace despite the arrows and stones being lobbed at it. Production was stymied briefly when one of the bolt hurlers had a lucky shot and crippled progress briefly, but it was put out of action right away when its tower was hit at the base by several stones and began to crumble. Of the eight men garrisoning it, three died in the collapse; the rest escaped, but three more of them would die later.

Mikal arrived five minutes later, the Illyushechka trailing behind him. The sergeant looked weary and haggard, and sweat ran down his cheeks profusely, but the thirty-odd lightmen, pale and swarthy and dressed in miraculously untarnished white robes and tunics, appeared to be unfazed by the fighting raging around them. They followed Mikal dutifully as he led them up to the gate, which would be breached anytime now.

"We're ready to de-"

"We need to destroy that pontoon," Kleiner said. "They're almost finished, and if they get enough across, they'll bring down our gate."

"We can only do so much before our energy pools wear out, Lord Kleiner," one of the Illyushech explained. "Our magic is not infinite."

"They told me the same," Mikal added. "They have to...conserve their energy or something…"

"As long as each usage is effective," Kleiner warned them. He knew how powerful lightmen were, and knew the kinds of weapons they wielded. Trace an arc of light across the field and wipe out an entire company of enemies; he'd seen it happen before, or at least heard the stories from Crestan. Thirty would not be enough to force the enemy back, but it could fight them to a standstill.

"We need to work together as well. As a unit we can channel energy into each other and work as a single entity, if necessary," the Illyushech added.

"Use your magic sparingly, if you must. But bring that damned pontoon down," Kleiner told them, and dismissed all of them. Mikal would head up the Illyushech and have a detachment of militiamen protect them if melee came into play. Kleiner returned to the gate, praying that they could bring the pontoon down before the inevitable siege engines were able to cross.

As it was, fighting was already breaking out to the north. Along the wharfs and jetties of the mills, and on the stony shore exposed to the river without a wall, skeletons had already landed, backed up by Endermen teleporting in to wreak havoc in the unprepared militia. Swords clashed with shields and spears as small groups of soldiers fought back against the invaders coming in on boats. The tactic most of them used with the spear was to thrust up; Shen and Badger had been teaching the militiamen for the past three weeks to thrust the spear up into the throat and skull of the skeleton, the head being the only weak point in its fleshless form. Some of them did so, and dispatched their undead attackers, the lifeless forms collapsing back down onto the sand and rock as the spear was retracted. Whatever kind of dark magic drove the automatons, it was clearly weak at the hypothalamus.

Others forgot their training and thrust their spears at chests and legs, only to have them hit bone and break or to go directly through the gaps in ribs. Many died because of their fear; overcome by terror, they found themselves unable to kill their foe and fell before the dark iron blades of the undead companies, who surged up on shore as they overwhelmed the defenders at the palisade. Archers rained fire on them below and felled dozens but they could not stem the line as more boats landed and others returned to the other side to pick up more fighters.

The tent city was chaotic. Kleiner heard the reports coming in; apparently a small contingent of militia had been sent out to police the northern gate but they had been forced back upon coming under attack by outlaws and brigands, and men who had turned to crime and violence out of desperation. The reports were grim.

Two of the militiamen, two young teenagers who had signed up out of sense of duty, had been captured and beheaded by brigands, and another one had died of his injuries soon after escaping back into the city. The crossbowmen on the gates had been picking off anybody who entered their line of sight, innocent or criminal, fires had erupted in several of the tent villages due to negligence or anarchy, and young women were being seized and corralled for the indulgence of gang rape.

Boats splintered to pieces as six of the Illyushechka, working in cohesion, brought their energy together and, utilizing pure light energy, drove their force against the river. The arc of light swept the water, slicing three boats in half and spilling their undead contents into the roiling waters. It had taken them two minutes to warm the process up and pool their energies, but Kleiner knew it had been worth it. One hundred and twenty foes dispatched in a single second; he watched from the wall, his heart somewhat lifted by the display of force, but knew that the pontoon wasn't coming down. They had tried; it had resisted, as if it was being protected. He could see the dark shapes on the pontoon, mounted on massive black reptiles or standing on foot, and knew they had to have something to do with it. They were protecting it.

"What can you do about them?" Kleiner asked when he broached the topic of the Endermen with one of the Illyushech, the one who had taken the burden of organizing and leading the rest of his kin.

"If we focus enough, we might be able to overpower them," he pondered. "We can try."

"Well it'd better be fast, otherwise they'll get their equipment and troops across," Kleiner worried.

"We will do what we can with the time we're given," the leader answered, clearly not amused by Kleiner's sense of urgency. "Remember, this is not easy-"

"We can't hold for long, so work quickly. We need to shore up the northern wharfs, anyway," Kleiner said. He could see the skeletons pouring into the miller's plaza and engaging reinforcements sent in to push them back.

It was then that the vague shapes on the horizon came into play. About half of the humans living in Milltown were familiar with what an "airplane" was, and about a quarter of those had ever actually seen one. The three airplanes that flew over Milltown were not conventional jumbo jets, or conventional bombers; they were something unseen in the world before, something new and experimental. The Aura C7 was new in the annals of aerospace history, faster and more maneuverable than any bomber before it and equipped with the ability to repair itself in mid-air using nanotechnology the world had never seen before. Standardized Energy had definitely put their best feet forward with the Aura project, and who better to alpha test their new toys on than a bunch of backward, spear-waving peasants in some godforsaken country full of oil just waiting to be exploited?

And that is exactly what they did.

Kleiner heard them before he saw them but he knew that roar, the screech of a jet engine. His confusion was replaced with panic and then outright terror as he, the mighty lord himself, succumbed to the shock of fear as the deadly payloads whistled through the sky down on the city and on the western camps. Each one was not really a conventional bomb; it was a thermobaric weapon, a kind of explosive that, after detonation, ignites the oxygen around it in an expanding explosion that leaves a vacuum briefly behind. The devastation caused by thermobaric weapons on modern buildings can be incredible; when applied to thatch houses and wooden apartments, it was nothing short of cataclysmic.

Buildings at the center of the impact sites simply disappeared. They were vaporized, removed from existence along with their occupants. Buildings within the inferno range crumbled and collapsed, catching fire as they did so. Part of the western wall was blown to pieces in another explosion, a huge crater left where the bomb hit and sent wooden planks and chunks of torched debris flying, and both the western tent town and another neighborhood of Milltown were hit. The shockwaves knocked even the ever stolid undead to their feet, and Kleiner's men all went sprawling. A few fell off the wall and died or were injured by the impact; several civilians suffered injuries from falling in their homes as the thermobaric shock wave hit the city. One part of the eastern wall, already heavily damaged by the enemy siege engines, gave up the ghost and collapsed into the river, taking six men and an unfortunate lightman down with it.

The shudders passed and the bombers veered off to the northwest, their black shapes tilting towards the earth as they cut hard to the left and vanished back into the horizon, as quickly as they had come. They left fire, smoke, and death in their wake.

Kleiner rose on unsteady feet, nostrils clogging with the rank stench of burning metal and earth. He knew what had happened, but was somehow at a loss for words to describe it. The lightmen had been interrupted before they could attack the pontoon, and several of them had been knocked down, and they were now struggling to their feet. They had been completely disrupted; thankfully the enemy seemed to suffer a similar complication, although to a lesser extent.

Fire bells began to ring. Smoke rose into the air from the west, where the bombs had impacted. Kleiner could smell the acrid chemical stench of phosphorus, magnesium and molybdenum, along with the choking smell of scorched air and cooked earth.

Fighting raged down by the wharfs as the last of the reserve spearmen, backed up by the Illyushechka, plunged forward to meet the undead tide in a clash of steel and iron. Spurred on by desperation and a looming sense of catastrophe, the militiamen began to form cohesive fighting groups, urged on by veteran soldiers within them and by their captains, who had managed to rally their spirits despite the bomb blasts and surge onward. The two sides locked together in merciless combat, the spearmen thrusting their weapons into skulls and the skeletons slashing away robotically, aiming for weak points and hacking past shields. The Illyushechka, wielding their own staves, whirled into the fray, dodging their enemies with lightning fast speed and shattering bone with sharp attacks. More undead surged up onshore as arrows rained down upon them and the battle began to shift towards the wharves, at least temporarily.

"I'm sorry, Lord Kleiner-"

"Refocus your attack," he ordered, returning his attention to the gate. The pontoon had been completed and enemies were surging across, rushing up to the gate and clamoring to get in. The battering ram was already coming, accompanied by the Endermen riding their great monstrosities and by zombie pigmen wielding the cruelest of axes and spiked polearms.

"Should we try to bring it down beneath them?" the lightman inquired.

"Yes, they might get the ram across, but we can block their reinforcements," Kleiner said, hoping that was true. It would take another five minutes for them to be prepared and breach the Ender defenses that were protecting the pontoon. By then the ram would be across and there was no stopping it.

Some guttural order was roared and the skeletons at the gate began to interlock their shields over their heads, protecting themselves from the arrows raining down from above. A few dozen of them had fallen to the missile barrage coming from the gatehouse and they had realized that it was an actual threat.

Testudo, Kleiner thought grimly. Nothing short of a sizeable boulder would be able to break that. At least half of their bolt throwers had been put out of action by now, either by the enemy siege weapons or because their crews had abandoned them in fright. Desperate to stymie his foe, Kleiner ran into the nearest tower, which was piled with the wounded, and ordered the crew of the bolt thrower active in there to try to aim at and fire at the testudo formations at the gate.

"Not sure if we can hit-"

"Try," Kleiner growled, drawing his sword. "Anything to break them up. If you can't hit, aim for that pontoon. Try to cause as much collateral as you can." Now he had to rush down to street level. The Illyushechka would take care of the bridge soon enough; but the gate would certainly be broken down. It was time to hold it.

Sword drawn, Kleiner rushed down towards the four-hundred assembled in front of the gate. Sergeant Shen, bearing a spear himself, handed him a lance and Kleiner joined Shen, Badger, Mikal, Connor and one of the tavern committee heads at the front of the assembly, waiting.

The gate took three hits. The first made the entire gatehouse shudder; clearly, the Illyushechka were not at full power yet. They would not be able to take down the ram. But there was still hope that they could break that damn pontoon and stopper the flow into the city that would certainly be coming.

The second hit smashed through the gate, the iron-tipped point of the ram showing its ugly face through a three-foot diameter hole in the wooden framework of the door. It withdrew for a brief moment, leaving a shattered gap in the gate, and then came back. This time the doors swung wide open, forced apart by a mightier power. Kleiner briefly thought of how rapine a battering ram was, before bringing his sword up and raising his lance and receiving the enemy.

They came surging forward, the testudo breaking as the skeletons rushed in in companies. Spears received them and the first line, the crack veterans and more promising trainees, thrust their spears upward and cut most of the first line down without trouble. Kleiner, backed by Shen and Connor, held his ground and thrust his own spear out, knocking one of the enemy down as his powerful blow caught on his armor and threw him to the ground. The undead swarmed in like water rushing through a dam, ferociously assaulting the human defenders and cutting down those who were unable to dodge or block the attacks.

Kleiner found himself disarmed when he brought his sword up to decapitate a skeletal opponent and his blade stuck itself in the creature's neck, lodged in the bone as he brought it down. He was unable to retrieve it and, faced with being gutted if he tried to do so, withdrew, handled his lance with both hands, and drove it into the creature's lifeless face. Its death grin did not falter but it lost all life and collapsed to the ground as Kleiner withdrew, bringing the lance up to face another enemy. He dispatched it in a similar fashion just as two Illyushechka rushed into the fray and, combining their energy, swept a dozen skeletons away in a flash of light. Kleiner was inwardly thankful that the thirty lightmen had come when to the aid of the town when they did

The fight was holding well until one of the Endermen, mounted upon his steed, rushed through the gate, followed by the zombie pigmen. The skeletons continued fighting but were being cut down as the lightmen outmaneuvered them and the militiamen, inspired by their commanders and the magical foreigners, held their ground as they thrust their spears in and out. Kleiner watched joyously as two men fell before the skeletons and their comrades, reacting instantly, rushed up to avenge them, dispatching the undead with ease and grace. Perhaps the training had paid off; however, the Endermen were only now entering the fray.

At least six teleported into the midst of the militiamen and, claws furiously flaying, tore through the ranks of the surprised soldiers. Kleiner found himself confronted with one of the armored furies, and dodged a swipe of claw as he darted his spear forward. It hit armor but slid right off, leaving naught but a jagged scratch on the formidable malachite. Kleiner swore and retreated hastily, letting the Enderman snarl and rush forward only to be met with Kleiner's allies, who kept him at bay with tentative spear thrusts. Luck was on their side and some militia spearman, finding his balls, rushed the Enderman from behind and drove his spear through a weak point in the monster's back, taking the alien to its knees. A quick thrust from Kleiner's lance into the creature's neck ended it. They had been lucky; the others were proving more difficult to take down, and the Illyushechka had chosen a new foe to counter.

The Enderman commander was mounted on what appeared to be a wingless dragon; it had the head, scales, tail and body of the mystical reptilian, but it could not fly. It could, however, wreak massive havoc. A lance of flame spurted from its maw as it was driven onward by its jockey, and that flame consumed a dozen militiamen in a single second, the hapless fighters reduced to goop and cinder as they tried to retreat. The Illyushechka broke away from their engagements, leaving reinforcement hammer-bearers to take on the skeletons, and met the new attacker with speed, collaborating with each other as they used their energy to absorb the monster's attacks and strike back with their own magic.

Kleiner backed away from the magic battle, disengaging from things he did not understand. He could barely comprehend the existence of magic and dimensions in this world, let alone let both rear their vicious heads ten feet away from him. He tried to lead a flank but failed; the wingless dragon, a drake he remembered, turned its head to them and snapped, intending to belch flame at the flanking party, but a hammer of light smashed against its head and, roaring, it turned to face the lightmen again, distracted. Kleiner took the chance to withdraw and focused on keeping his soldiers alive, forcing the skeletons to the ground and ending them as the wave of pigmen entered the fray.

Although they were mortal and more vulnerable than the skeletons, zombie pigmen were vicious, ruthless fighters and could withstand severe injuries. They were stymied only by death or critical wounds and, as such, had to be dispatched quickly. Kleiner fought on, using his lance as both a staff and a spear, but was finding himself exhausted as he met the latest wave of attackers. The pigmen were brutal in their attacks and they smashed shield and bone with ease. Hammers crushed skulls, polearms pierced armor and flesh and skewered men as they stood defending, and Kleiner saw at least one pigman raise a hapless archer into the air and crush his windpipe with its bare hands, distorting his neck and expelling blood and bile from the man's mouth and nostrils. The drake continued to fight on, injured by the lightmen, and Kleiner ordered his soldiers to protect the Illyushechka as they weakened their foe.

The pigmen were eventually destroyed but Kleiner knew more were coming. Already more skeletons were streaming through the gate, attacking exhausted soldiers relentlessly, and the drake retreated, its master driving the wounded beast back onto the pontoon as he fled from the lightmen. They fought on for another ten minutes but nobody was gaining any momentum. The dead had piled up everywhere, victims of arrows, swords, spears, lances, axes and magic, or other crueler forms of mortality. Sweat soaked his breeches and tunic and his forehead was covered in a thick layer of perspiration, and his adrenaline rush faded away as Kleiner realized that the western portion of the city was ablaze. The fire bells were still ringing, and distant shouts and cries of desperation could be heard above the din of iron and the twang of bows. The lost cause was beginning to dawn on him; only about a hundred fighters were left standing at the gate, ¾ of their number already gone. There were a hundred more to call on for reserves, and most of the men down by the wharfs had been slain as well. Too much blood, too many lives lost, he reflected bitterly. There was one thing left to do, and that was die. He had been expecting this.

To his dismay, the Illyushechka had come down from the wall. He could see that the battlements and parapets were damaged, the wooden supports cracking and fragmenting and one of the towers nearing collapse. However, they had to stay up there, had to bring the pontoon down. This would never end otherwise. Frustrated and breathless, Kleiner rushed to meet them as the troops reformed to prepare for another attack.

"The bridge will not come down," the lightman leader spoke before Kleiner could retrieve his words. "We've tried."

"You...couldn't do it!?" Kleiner cried, exasperated. "I ordered-"

"It won't break, my lord," the leader replied patiently. "It is not ordinary wood. It's beefed up with some sort of material that we can't break, something from another plane of this world. Clearly it has been built with us in mind."

"You're kidding," Kleiner gasped. He felt blood trickling down his cheek and jawbone and realized that his forehead was bleeding. He dabbed at it but only succeeded in drawing blood all over his glove. He was desperate, now; death was here, but now he didn't want to face death. Dreams of bravery and glory were long buried, overwhelmed by the desire to live.

"Some sort of material that we cannot effect. The pontoon will not come down," the lightman said.

"We also lost two. Arrows, unfortunately," another added. "Two of ours who were fighting down on the wharfs died as well."

"We've hit their boats but it's not enough. We cannot stymie the tide," the leader reported. "We have decided it is time for us to make our sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Kleiner asked wearily, still breathless. He did not intend to argue with anything they said, but remained wary.

"We must give our lives to stop the enemy," the leader said plainly, and his followers agreed placidly. "It is the only course of action that can succeed."
"It is the only viable course of action, truly," another said.

"You're going to throw yourselves at them?" Kleiner said.

"It is the only course of action, Lord Kleiner. It has been a pleasure knowing you," the leader said, bowing his head. The others followed suit.

"You can't go," Kleiner told them, his mouth dry as sand. "I-I need you."

"No time for foolishness," the leader warned, his voice growing stern. "We must do this thing, if the city wishes to stand. Look to it, for it burns."

"I need you. What if they come again?" Kleiner asked, frightened by the very prospect.

The Illyushech leader placed a hand on his shoulder in a brotherly manner, as if trying to comfort him through a shared bond.

"They will not come again, I promise you that," the leader told him. "We will give them such hell that they will not come here again for a time. By then, you will have figured out how to beat them."

"But they will come back, you just said so!" Kleiner shouted at him, accusatory.

"By then you will know, and you will learn to fight them. But if you insist, I leave four of my own with you, to protect this city and all who hold it dear," the lightman acquiesced, and four of his Illyushechka followers stood out of line, divided from their comrades. If they were frightened or saddened by the imminent deaths of their friends, they did not show it.

"It will not be enough," Kleiner cautioned, licking his dry lips. "I need you all-"

"But we cannot all be here. I am sorry, My Lord, but this is the way things must go," the leader told him, and that was the end of the conversation. The lightman turned away and, leading all but four of his followers, began running at a brisk trot towards the gate, passing heaps of dead and scores of men struggling to gain their footing as more skeletons, small companies of a dozen at a time, rushed through the gate. There were hundreds more coming up behind them, and another one of the drakes, but the Illyushechka ran steadfastly forward, assembled into a column.

"Wh-what are they doing?" Sergeant Shen asked, his face bedecked with sweat and his left arm soaked with blood.

"Making a last stand," Kleiner answered, stoicly watching the lightmen troop out, blasting past the skeletons as they passed through the gate. None would return alive, he knew.

"That's suicide," Shen said.

"That's the point," Kleiner said grimly. Only four remained, and they watched too.

"What do we do now?" Shen asked as Mikal, unharmed but exhausted, came to his side.

"We plug up any gaps we have. Put out the fires, reinforcements where they need to be. Block up that gate," Kleiner ordered. "Hold the wharves, too. Throw everyone else at the wharves, throw them back, damnit."

His orders were followed promptly and debris from the walls and the surrounding area, as well as construction stock from the city's storage was piled up in front of the gate as a makeshift barrier. As this occurred the skeletons upon the wharves were slain, at the cost of forty good men, and as that occurred the final sacrifice was made.

James Kleiner watched from the walls as the stone throwers fell silent. The bridge was completely emptied; he had heard the roar, and felt the shockwave, and seen the flash of light. Not a single body remained upon it, just a few scraps of debris. Giant waves of light cut swathes through the fields on the other side of the river as the twenty or so Illyushechka, fighting to the death, decimated their enemies. Giant scythes of light, lances of energy, balls of cast plasma killed thousands of skeletons and pigmen, throwing them into disarray. The city was forgotten, for the time being; the only thing the enemy appeared to be worried about was the havoc tearing through their ranks.

The last of the enemies on the Milltown side were cut down and the wharves were retaken, the boats pushed back into the river and set alight by the victorious defenders. As the stone throwers fell silent a ragged cheer went up from the surviving archers and tower guards, who watched the light show on the other side of the river glow and glitter in the gloom. Slowly, one by one, the lightmen were falling. Kleiner knew this as the flashes were becoming less and less common and more contained to a single area, where the skeletons had finally cornered their foes. Thousands more died before the end came, and when it did, a gloom settled upon the corpse-coated fields east of Milltown.

And later that day, as the defenders rushed to put out fires and shore up breaches and bury their dead and mourn their losses, the undead legion withdrew, ever so slowly. They might return one day, but for now they fell back, leaving tens of thousands of their own casualties twice slain upon the battlefield of Milltown.

Summer's last fire had been extinguished as the dying leaves on the trees began to fall, signalling a coming cold.

VVVVV

"I would not be so quick to throw it in."

Matt watched as the tall figure approached, a longsword strapped to his hip but currently sheathed. He looked menacing, but not directly threatening, at least not yet. With black malachite armor and a flowing, snow-white robe he was intimidating and demanding of respect.

Albus hissed as the Enderborn approached, and the latter turned to face his half-cousin, regarding him with a sneer.

"Deserter," he scoffed.

"Hybrid," Albus returned. "Matt, he's an Enderborn. He's half human, half-"

"I've figured that much out," Matt said. His mouth was dry and he felt sweat rolling down his neck. Carefully, ever so carefully, step back towards the center of the room…

"I know what you want to do. I've known this for a long time. Destroying that pendant will bring unforeseen consequences to all, especially you," the Enderborn warned him, standing in place.

"He's lying, Matt," Albus said. "Destroy it!"

"Don't listen to him. He is impetuous, and he hasn't considered the myriad of possibilities," the Enderborn said, remarkably more placid than Albus. "I have."

"There are no myriad possibilities, Matt," Albus said desperately. "There is only one outcome, and it's for the good of the world. You've handled that thing, you know how it poisons and destroys. It is an evil monster that cannot be contained, only removed."

Matt, who had been listening intently to both, realized that Albus was right. No matter what the tall stranger said, he had experience with the trinket, knew what it had done to his mind. It had enslaved him and picked away at his nerves for weeks, all because of damned curiosity.

"Nothing to say to that?" Albus challenged the Enderborn when he remained silent.

"I have ordered your death...times before. Where a bunch of tribesmen, one of my necromancers, and Rykar Bergensten have failed, I intend to succeed," the Enderborn said.

"You...you were the one-"

"Rykar Bergensten had been in my grasp for years. Not even that immortal hermit knew, that's how far my plan got," the Enderborn said triumphantly. "But then Rykar failed, and you escaped."

"You had him betray me and kill me," Matt accused angrily.

"He betrayed you from the start. You might say he was never on your side. Elaborate, perhaps a bit too much, but I thought it would work out. You dead and the pendant back in our hands."

"Matt, he wants to kill you," Albus pointed out bluntly.

"Oh, that may be where you're wrong," the Enderborn scoffed, turning first to Albus and then back to Matt. "You have survived three close shaves with my own underlings, Matthew. I am impressed, and honestly perplexed, as to how you did it, beyond the explanation of sheer dumb luck. However, I do not intend to kill you, as much as you impress me with your prowess. Hand the pendant to me, and we all walk from this place. Your safety and freedom are guaranteed."

Matt was not about to be seduced by tempting lies. As if to echo his feelings, Albus scoffed again, spitting on the ground and leaving a distinct purple splotch on the concrete.

"You deserted. Your opinion matters fuck all," the Enderborn cursed.

"I sought a righteous cause. I was lied to, deceived-"

"That doesn't erase your transgression. You are a deserter, plain and simple. Left my army for empty promises, did you?" the Enderborn taunted.

"I left your army for greener pastures, and I'm willing to die for them," Albus said. Matt, sensing trouble, drew his sword, and the Enderborn echoed his gesture, drawing his own cold steel. The pretense was over, and it hadn't lasted long.

"Then you will do so," the hybrid warned.

"I will die with him," Matt promised, sounding braver than he felt.

"You don't want to do that. I beg you, reconsider," the Enderborn spoke to him, sword drawn and readied.

"No."

"You're blinded by your own ignorance," the Enderborn said. "You don't know our cause, Matthew…"

"Cause," Albus grumbled, sneering.

"Peace and stability and tranquility!" the hybrid cried, standing back and facing Albus.

"All I've seen you create is death and destruction," Matt accused him. He could hear footsteps down the hallway and prayed that the other two were catching up. "You call that stability?"

"A sacrifice for stability. An end to the troubles and conflicts of this world and a return to better days, where life was clean and free."

"The genocide of humanity," Albus said. Matt knew it was true, too.

"Humans are a stain. You did not see this world before they came. War and treachery and malice, and when the machines were built, it was its own kind of genocide!" the Enderborn shouted, infuriated. "Genocide of nature, genocide of beauty, the rape of the world at the hands of men who called themselves champions of republic."

"Those people are long gone and moved on," Matt said. "Dead, buried. You hold resentment against them for things you have never experienced?"

"Oh, but I have experienced them. Lived the memories of a thousand bodies and remember each and every little slight. My cause, and the cause of my master, is based upon injustices delivered without punishment," the Enderborn explained. "Now, perhaps, you understand."

"It's genocide, plain and simple," Albus accused.

"Give me the pendant, or I will kill you. End your pathetic fucking life, here and now," the Enderborn warned, threatening Matt. For a moment, the latter lowered his sword, not out of consideration but out of fear. Faced with such an intimidating opponent, an armed and armored one too, Matt wondered how fast he would die should this come to blows. Why not just lay his arms down and hand the pendant over? Wouldn't that be much better than fighting what seemed to be an impossible fight?

And then he wondered if he would live even if he acquiesced to the hybrid's demands. There was no guarantee that the Enderborn wouldn't just gut him like a fish once the pendant was securely in his hands. In fact, it was more than likely that he would want to silence any witnesses. He had to be lying. And just then, Erich and Sora came out of the darkness and entered the room, stopping right at the entrance to gawk momentarily at the curious scene that was presented to them. The light from Erich's flashlight focused on the Enderborn and bathed in in a garish hue. He recoiled briefly but put up his guard instantly after.

"I refuse," Matt said, and the Enderborn glanced over at him before flashing him the most twisted, cruel smile he had ever seen. He saw the purple eyes and they almost glowed with malice.

"So be it. I'll relish this." And he moved to strike.

Matt was quick to dodge but the Enderborn was not a slow fighter. He turned and struck again, his movements tight and controlled. Matt threw up his own sword and just barely blocked the next strike, locking his eyes with those of his merciless, vicious foe as he did. Only the timely arrival of Erich, weapon drawn, prevented Matt from falling to the next blow. The Enderborn turned to counter the officer as Sora, blade raised, rushed into the fray too.

Something primal in Matt wanted to tell her to turn around and to stop, but he couldn't form the words. She rushed out and he felt a sudden sense of danger and wanted to grab her and pull her back, but he didn't. Instead he brought his sword up to strike and hammered it down, hitting the Enderborn's blade as he barely blocked the cut.

"Matt, the pendant!" Albus cried out, entering the fray. Erich struck furiously at the Enderborn as Matt disengaged and fumbled for the pendant, struggling to extract it. The Enderborn turned to him and moved to drive his sword forward but Matt dropped and rolled off to the side, bruising his shoulder as he did. Matt turned to Erich and tossed the pendant, hoping that Erich could catch; he did so, leaping back to catch it in his left hand, but the Enderborn came after him and attacked him, knocking his sword back and driving at his legs as the officer stumbled. The cut was not deep, but it was enough to make Erich howl and drop to one knee, the pendant still clutched in his palm.

Albus rushed the Enderborn with a roar and tackled him, throwing him to the concrete. A swift kick to the Enderman's chest knocked him off and Erich, rising, struggled to lift his sword to fight. The Enderborn was momentarily distracted by Sora, who rushed in, but she was pushed aside almost lazily by her opponent. Erich tossed it off to Albus just in time to engage the Enderborn, who was following the pendant feverishly with his eyes. He bulled into Erich, knocking him down, and charged at Albus, who was about to toss the pendant in when he was caught off guard and almost gutted. He swept to the side, but was caught by the Enderborn's shoulder and was taken to the ground, tossing the pendant into the air as he did.

Matt raced to catch it, and for a moment thought that he was going to be able to toss it in. Left arm raised, he aimed towards the portal, but a sharp edge of fire tore through his shoulder and he screamed in pain, suddenly feeling his vision go blurry, the pendant involuntarily slipping out of his hand. He went to his knees, realizing that he had been struck by the Enderborn's sword. There was scuffling and he was knocked over by someone's body, whose he did not know.

Someone grabbed the pendant, and for a brief moment, forcing himself to rise despite the searing pain in his shoulder where the blade had connected with cloth and flesh, he was afraid that the Enderborn had taken his prize. But now Albus held it, and as the Enderborn kicked Sora aside, barely missing her with a slash of his sword, Erich hurled it in an arc towards Albus. The Enderborn missed his chance.

Albus caught it with lightning reflexes and, raising his arm and turning forty-five degrees on the spot, hurled the pendant into the abysmal void of the portal. It sank into the effluvium within the square and then exploded.

It was the most instantaneous reaction Matt had ever witnessed. One moment he could see the tiny sphere and the chain falling into the black, starlit goop, and the next moment it erupted. But there was nothing after that. It simply...vanished.

And then everyone fell to the floor. Matt thought that he had been injured more severely, but then felt that same shock, the rush of energy pulsing through his flesh and throbbing within his head. He fell to his knees himself, succumbing briefly to the tantalizing flow of pure energy within, before the sense vanished and he felt as if nothing but a light static shock had happened.

The Enderborn had been floored too, but he had already risen to his knees, screaming furiously. His eyes fixed maliciously on Albus and, his teeth dripping with spittle, he shrieked and lunged at Albus, grabbing the Enderman as he was recovering and quite literally lifting him into the air. Albus, regaining some sense after the wave, kicked and struggled, but the Enderborn gave no quarter, as viciously infuriated as he was. It was quite clear that the hybrid was possessed of unusual strength, given how he held Albus in the air with one hand and buried his other hand in the Enderman's chest, piercing flesh and muscle with his bare fingers. He withdrew a pulsating purple organ and threw it to the ground, tossing Albus' lifeless body to the concrete moments afterward. Then he turned on the other three, his face bloated with rage.

Matt felt his face contort involuntarily and wanted to cry. He raised his sword and charged in screaming, and Erich did the same, clearly rushing in to avenge the blood spilled. Albus was dead, deader than dead; with saline liquid building in his eyes, Matt hacked and slashed at the Enderborn, swearing violently at him and expending all of the energy he had left as he fought desperately to avenge the dead Enderman. Erich, less blinded by rage, managed to deflect the Enderborn's next blow at Matt and, delivering a swift kick to the hybrid's wrist, knocked the blade out of his grasp. It clattered across the floor and into the darkness, and their enemy was suddenly devoid of a weapon.

No matter.

The Enderborn delivered a swift kick to Erich's sternum, a sidekick that doubled him over and sent him flying into the edge of the portal, his head hitting the brick hard. Erich grunted as he struggled to rise, but by that time the Enderborn was upon Matt, dashing forward with lightning speed to snatch up his next opponent. Launching himself forward, the hybrid brought his hands up to Matt's head before the latter could even raise his weapon in defense, and Matt was hauled up into the air. Two thumbs pressed into his temples and he could feel an insane amount of painful pressure as the Enderborn attempted to crush his skull with his bare hands. Matt struggled and flailed and had the sudden horrifying realization that he was coming to almost the same end as Albus. The thumbs pressed in and despite his most powerful kick to the hybrid's stomach Matt could not loosen the grip that was about to kill him. He locked his gaze with his enemy, and saw malice, hate, and triumph in those purple pupils, and a certain perverted joy too, his snarling lips barely twisted into a smile. He had less than a second left, he knew that. The pressure was about to break through. In terror and desperation, Matt cried out and drove his arms forward, aiming his thumbs right for the Enderborn's eyes.

Matt could feel his nails pierce the corneas and retinae of those purple eyes, and felt the jellylike vitreous fluid flow over his cuticles. The Enderborn screamed but did not let go, and then Matt began to feel distant, floating away from his body rather rapidly. He could still hear screaming, and it had taken the form of words, but it was not what he had been expecting.

"Let go! Let go! PLEASE let go!" the Enderborn's voice shrieked, a maddening mash of pain and abhorrence and panic. Matt felt himself succumb to the darkness and he was enveloped within the void, his fingers losing the gelatinous, squishy feeling of pierced eyes and his head losing the intense pressure and pain of impressed temples. And then he was floating within the neurospace, swathed in void.

Matt was not aware of the neural connection he had made with the Enderborn, not yet at least; he was only now acknowledging that time had appeared to stop flowing and that he was somewhere different. The darkness around him began to retreat and colors filled its place as the screaming continued.

"Get out! Let go! GO!" it begged, threatening death and torture as it shouted. Matt paid no heed as nothing happened to him; he was somewhere that existed, yet didn't. A world formed before him, green grass and tall oak trees, clear blue sky and tall, imposing mountains, a babbling brook of clear water and sprigs of wildflowers poking up out of the warm, enchantingly moist earth.

"You don't seem to get along with Chris very well, do you?" a voice asked teasingly, and then human forms took shape. One of them was female, a short-ish wide-hipped girl with frizzy auburn hair and a round face imbedded with green eyes, and the other held an odd resemblance to the Enderborn whose memories Matt was now experiencing. He was younger, not quite as pale, and far less intimidating, but that snowy skin and dark black hair and scowl were all too resemblant of the vicious killer that was trying to bring Matt's life to an end.

"He's such a joker. Never can act serious," the man scoffed.

"Adrien, please. It's just the way he is, he's a kid," the girl said, laughing. "Can't you reconcile that? Besides, it's kinda cute."

"Adeline, no offense, but I'm not amused," the man named Adrien returned.

"Are you jealous of him?" Adeline queried.

"Jealous? Why?"

"Because, he's funny and you're such a bore," she laughed. "I'm just joking…"

"I just...don't want to be his friend," Adrien scowled, kicking at the dirt boredly.

"Awww, you don't want to be anyone's friend," Adeline joked. "Except mine."

"Yeah, funny thing about that…" he trailed off. Matt was frozen in place, unable to move as a silence fell over the two of them.

"Yes?" Adeline asked politely, waiting for an answer. She cocked her head quizzically.

"Er, I was just...thinking aloud," Adrien replied stiffly.

"Hey, what's up? I know something's up, you can tell me. Do you really have a thing against Chris?" Adeline asked.

"No, I don't, it's...it's mostly about you."
"Well go on," she offered.

"I just sorta think...I like you, that's all," Adrien answered, casting his head down. Adeline was quiet for a moment, her face darkening.

"Drie, no...I'm sorry, but...I don't think of you in the same way," she said, laughing awkwardly. "It just isn't like that."

"No, I know, I getcha-"

"I appreciate your friendship a lot, though. I really do. And the fact that you're always willing to lend a helping hand," Adeline said in an attempt to cheer him up. "I like being your friend! I just don't...like like you."

"I get that," Shadow said. And for the first time, Matt realized he wasn't looking at her eyes, or even her relatively unimpressive boobs. He was looking at the pendant, sitting gaily upon the pale flesh of her upper chest. And he made a connection.

"Let's go bake cookies, maybe that will cheer you up! Zoea said she found some cocoa beans and we've got plenty of wheat!" Adeline told him, already heading off. "Come on, don't be left behind!"

Adrien waited only momentarily, and with the eccentric young girl gone, Matt felt the world begin to darken significantly again. The void enveloped him once more, and the memory perverted itself back to reality. The boy named Adrien turned to him, eyes aglow with fiery purple light, and screamed at him.

"GET OUT!"

Pain, he could feel pain, and the world disappeared. It was the void again, but only for a few seconds, before colors returned. This time the vision was much bleaker, a stark stone world full of well-dressed humans, all of them milling about and speaking quite anxiously to one another.

There appeared to be an assembly of people, dressed in noble colors and outfits, standing before a stage. Upon that sit a lone, awkward girl stood, bedecked in swirling green and brown robes, her hair decorated by sprigs of mint and juniper berries and green oak leaves. There was a round of applause as a man, dressed in the most brilliantly blue tunic Matt had ever seen, ascended the stage, waving to the crowd.

It took a few moments for Matt to notice the hybrid. He was dressed in similar garb, flowing robes and brilliant tunic and rich silk, but his eyes were clear and outstanding. He stood at the back of the crowd with Matt, unnoticed but present all the same.

"Our young Lady Herdrath, blessed her name be now in these halls…"

The man at the front of the stage was speaking, but Matt hardly paid attention to him, for his eyes were fixated upon the Enderborn, and turned to where he was staring once he realized that he was focusing upon the stage.

The glint of the pendant was barely visible, yet Matt caught it shimmering in the light. The speaking man almost seemed to wear it with pride, his chest puffed out as he spoke in a booming voice to his enraptured audience.

"...a woman of placating nature, a bearer not of war and destruction but peace and reconstruction. Sima Herdrath, our greatest and most revered Listener," the man finished, sweeping his arms towards the rather frightened looking girl. She smiled weakly and flushed rosily as the crowd cheered her.

"Thanks to her efforts, our war with the creepers has come to a close. Now, it's certainly not the end of violence around the world, but it's a start!" the man said. "The channels of communication are open now, though. We are on the path to peace."

Another round of applause, and Matt found himself almost tempted to join in, convinced by some sort of mob mentality to clap even though he had no idea who this woman is. But his hands were frozen, and so were his feet; the only thing he could move was his head, and he watched the Enderborn lust silently after the pendant, his eyes following it as its bearer exited to stage left to a surge of cheers.

His hand went to his sword, but he only tapped the pommel and let it be. Then he turned to Matt, and smiled a most vicious smile that quickly twisted into the most hideous, accusing grimace.

"HOW COULD YOU!?" the voice cried before darkness returned again. It was much longer this time before some color returned to Matt's vision, and he was beginning to feel pain again. Was this death, or something far different?

He emerged from some kind of metal coffin, his arms and legs dripping with a gooey, slimy purple liquid. His head felt like a small-scale explosion, pounding relentlessly and painfully, and sweat soaked his naked body. He squinted as harsh lights filled his vision and he precariously stepped out of the hot, sticky darkness of the coffin, emerging into a hostile and cold world of stone bricks. Tiny orbs of purple light floated in the air above him, suspended by nothing yet buoyant all the same.

His feet felt the cold stone and when he looked down he saw that his skin was paler than it had ever been, his veins now purple and pulsating. His stomach tightened and he felt nauseous as the realization came over him, that he was now seeing directly through the eyes of his enemy. He wandered further ahead, terrified and feeling insignificant compared to the towering brick walls and the great pillars that seemed to go on forever before him.

He saw the statues between each pillar, concealed within their own niches in the wall, and saw the eyes, too, watching him. It was a distinctly blood-chilling feeling that put him on edge and make every step forward frightening. He felt as if something was going to lunge out at him from the darkness between the pillars that the light appeared incapable of penetrating.

"Rebirth is frightening, no?" It was a voice, but not the same that had been screaming at him. A distant, removed, vibrating voice that seemed to be taunting him. Matt found he could not reply and stopped moving, realizing that his veins were pulsating more violently now. He could feel eyes glaring out of those dark niches, pupils where pupils didn't belong, sentience set in stone.

"This is...number six hundred and fifty two, correct? I try to keep an accurate account," the voice said. "Are you ready?" Again, Matt could not reply, without realizing that this was simply a memory, not an event he could control.

"The time has almost come. Your servants have been diligent in their efforts, but there is much to be done. You know what must be accomplished next?"

More silence. If the Enderborn had replied to any of that, Matt did not hear it.

"Our army must be prepared. Six months will give us enough time. The Earth men are divided and I can expect them to fall apart even further. Use this to your advantage. You know what to do, so get back out there. Do not come back anytime soon either." No response, but the darkness began to envelop him again, and the cold and the fear vanished, to be replaced almost instantaneously with reality.

No more screaming. He heard gurgling though, and felt his thumbs once more, lodged in the dying purple eyes of the Enderborn.

The glimmering point of Sora's sword protruded through his throat, driven through flesh and bone. The grip on Matt's head loosened instantly, and he felt himself falling as his enemy died. Those purple eyes, once swimming in vile malice, were now only a shade of death as the last of his mortality drained away from the fatal wound. Sora drew her sword out with difficulty and the Enderborn collapsed to the ground, his hands going to his throat before he gave up the ghost, bleeding profusely onto the floor.

Over as quickly as it had begun, Matt reflected. He felt woozy, and wanted to black out, but his brain would not allow him that luxury. Blood flowed from his temples and pooled on the floor by his ears and he realized that the Enderborn's nails had pierced his flesh just before he had been slain. Sora, sword painted with blood, stood over her foe's corpse, in a state of shock.

"S-Sora...are you…"

He rolled over, doubled over in pain. Dark blood was spreading on the floor beneath the Enderborn's body and Erich was only now bending down over him, tentatively shaking him to ensure that he was dead. Sora had done a complete job.

"Albus," she said, turning to the broken remains of the Enderman. She looked like she was about to cry. She turned to Matt, knelt down beside him, and then proceeded to cry for a straight minute. Her hair was dipping in his blood, but she didn't appear to mind. Her hand tightened around his and she pressed her head into his shoulder, weeping profusely. Erich, shell-shocked as he was, said nothing, standing idly and silently over the bodies.

"It's over," Matt promised Sora, who was cradling his body as if he were dead. "Sora, it's over…"

She did not heed him and continued to cry, perhaps for fear or disgust or because it was over. He let her cry until she choked and retched and then fell silent, retreating to a kneel beside him. He felt weak and drained of energy, and his legs cramped like hell, but he had stopped bleeding and had received no bad injuries.

"I know it's over," she replied vacantly.

"Sora…"

"I'm glad you're okay," she said, smiling weakly. "I'm...sorry, it's just…"

She gave out and fell back onto the floor, retching violently. Matt, his head still resting on the cold concrete, felt woozy and wanted to vomit too. He could hear a voice, too...growing louder. A pained, frustrated voice that was eerily familiar.

"I was so close! It was in my grasp! I had it!"

He struggled to rise and in doing so nearly blacked out, barely avoiding unconsciousness by grasping his head and steadying himself as he stood. Erich came to his side and helped him, holding onto him by the shoulders until he was capable of standing by himself.

"It was him! I was so close, and I failed!" A voice of agony not unlike the Enderborn's in his final moments.

"Sora, are you doing alright?" Matt asked, grimacing. She wiped flecks of bile from her lips grimly, and nodded her assent.

"Can you walk alright?"

"Yeah...I'll manage. I need...water," she said, realizing how dry her throat was.

"We'll find some," Erich promised, although he hardly sounded certain.

"What do we do with Albus?" Sora asked, as if they had forgotten.

"Leave him," Matt said, as hurtful as it was to say. "There's nothing in our power we can do."

"No burial?" Sora asked, her eyes waxing accusatory upon him.

"He's right," Erich agreed. "We just have to leave him. Leave this entire place behind."

Erich grabbed the flashlight and led them out. Sora stared wistfully at Albus' body, as if reconsidering leaving, and then turned away, blinking away tears. She was uninjured in body but Matt was afraid she she had been traumatized or something. He put his arm around her shoulder as they left, hauling her along and keeping her close. He noticed that the veins in his arm were waxing purple, but blew it off as a trick of the light, or perhaps some bodily function he was unaware of.

"An-another chance? But...it's gone, they took it, they destroyed it. Gone forever. The whispers cease."

Sora was crying again, for what reason she did not know. She was just crying to forget. She stifled her tears as they approached the exit, sunlight filtering into the loading dock from the small crack in the door. Thankfully the door had not closed on their way in; it was still wide open, admitting any comers or goers who pleased to revisit history.

"Why didn't you tell me this before? This should've been...our first plan."

"We shouldn't have left him," Sora said.
"We can do nothing else," Matt told her. "I'm sorry…"

"It just doesn't feel proper," she said, sniffling. "The way he killed him, too…"

"You gave him what he deserved," Matt complimented her. "You saved my life, too." He tried to flash a smile but it turned into a grimace. Nevertheless, it was somewhat calming. She loved his smile, and the awkward way in which he tried to grin whenever he wanted to cheer someone up. It was adorable. Maybe someday they'd be back in Seattle and they could live together and she could see his smile every day.

Up the dirt tunnel they clambered, emerging in the midst of three dozen men. This was an unexpected surprise and Erich dropped the flashlight, surrounded by an entire pack of torch-bearing wild men dressed in furs and leathers, all carrying their own crude weapons. He felt threatened for a moment, but none of them moved to attack. They waited as, from within their ranks, someone stirred. No, two people.

"I cannot run three fronts. There is no way, it's not possible…"

Two men armored in chainmail emerged from the ranks of the tribesmen. Sora and Matt stood together behind Erich, and Matt felt her hand grip his tightly.

"Matt…"

"Sssh. Hold on," he whispered, silencing her.

Erich had lost his voice and stood before the mailed captains, watching them.

"We've been told about you...three. There were supposed to be five," the first man said.

"We lost two," Erich replied, licking his lips.

"The Enderborn?"

"Dead," Sora answered. "By my hand." She took a certain perverse pride in that fact.

"It doesn't matter whose hand," the man replied. "But you are brave to have done so. And the pendant?"

"Destroyed," Erich replied. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

"Are you certain there are others? Do you trust them?"

The voice in Matt's head was independent from everything else, its own entity. His forehead hurt and his temples pounded again.

"I am Lord Henrik Rolf, and this here is Lord Thomas Gardner," the first man spoke, indicating his companion. "Once we were enemies. We were all enemies, in fact. But what happened in the past doesn't matter now. We stand as brothers, against the very foe whose death is little more than an inconvenience for him."

"Are you saying…?"

"The Enderborn will return. Perhaps even stronger than before," Henrik Rolf said. "I have been told this. I don't understand it, but what mortal man does? There are things beyond this earthly realm that we may never comprehend, but must strive against anyway."

"I am ready. Send me back. There can be no waiting."

"Waxing poetic," Gardner mused. "We will take you back to North Driftmist. These men here are from the Pass, the tribesmen remaining after their war. They will see us safely through."

"So long as you follow our instructions, we will get you back to the Ditch," Rolf told them. "It is a long journey but we are well prepared. Do you want some water? You look exhausted."

All three of them accepted and marched off with the escort, through the wide avenues of Delphos. Never look back until you have to, Matt though.

Until he had to look back, he would keep walking forward. For now, their troubles had ceased.

"I will not fail this time. There is much work to be done, but I am ready to do it."

The voice in his head sounded very determined.

XXXXX