Legacy of the Tormentor: The Dark Doorway [PG-16]

[Umbra]

The much-delayed sequel to what was once considered one of YCM's greatest fanfics. For those of you (read: most of you) that didn't read the original, spoilers ahoy.

The horribly dated original can be found [url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/19622-legacy-of-the-tormentor-finished/"]here[/url].

[spoiler=Chapter 0: A New Sun Rises]
[i]Three years have passed since the battle in the Wickspire's Observatory, which lead to the death of the Wicked Gods at the hands of Eric Morae, the Tormentor's heir. Sadly, during the battle, Eric was overwhelmed by the power he had obtained, and turned against his own kin. His brother Jonah, armed with the Tormentor's blessing, fought Eric and defeated him. In the wake of his death, an unimaginable amount of energy erupted from his body, shattering the Wickspire... and opening doors that should have been left untouched.[/i]

[i]Jonah Morae, Eric's younger brother, has since returned to Earth, and surrendered his right to the Tormentor's throne. Going down the line of heritage, it went on to the young woman Flora Caldwell, who gladly accepted the power. While she may not have been as incredible with it as Eric had, she had far better control over her ability – better fit to be a ruler. [/i]

[i]Now eighteen and an orphan, Jonah still knows next to nothing about his father's death almost nine years earlier. He has left his hometown Red Sky City to forget everything, and instead seek a new home somewhere else, traveling across the nation to find out what happened. [/i]
[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Chapter 1: Journey]The sun rose over Adoración, California. Jonah Morae was unfortunate enough to have the only window of his room facing the east, and the blinds still let a few rays of light through. He'd thought about mentioning it to the old lady he rented the room from, but it wouldn't be worth it. He'd probably be leaving in a few days anyhow. The lead he had, that the man he was looking for was in this town somewhere, seemed to be a dead end. He sighed, and sat up straight in his bed.

Ever since his mother's death three years earlier, he'd felt no ties to Red Sky City, even though he'd lived there for most of his life. Back then, the only thing that mattered to him was dueling. It helped him forget that he'd spent almost half his life without a father, and had had to rely on his mother for support. His father, Richard Morae born Norgrass, had left for work one day and never come back. The company officials – from the Crystalfound Corporation, where his father worked – said he'd died in a car accident and was mangled to the point where he couldn't be identified. For six years, Jonah and his mother had believed that story. They'd buried the remains in Red Sky City's cemetery, and cried at the foot of the tombstone with his father's name on it. However, in the spring of 2007, three years earlier, something had happened that flipped Jonah's life up-side-down, changing everything he knew about life and existence itself.To think that it had all started with a duel...He shook his head. I shouldn't think too much about that. It's of the past, I should focus on the present.

He wasn't sure what had happened to the others. He had surrendered his right to the Tormentor's throne, giving it to his apparently distant relative, Flora Caldwell, but he hadn't met her nor anyone else since that day. Susannah and Isaac had gone back to their hometown along with Abigail and Richard, but Jonah hadn't heard a word from them since. He supposed it was because of his constant traveling, as he rarely stayed in one place for more than a few days. Adoración was only the latest stop along the road.

For some reason, the place gave him a good feeling. It was a small town, the kind that wouldn't show up on the road maps, with about six-hundred residents. Everyone knew each other, and from what Jonah had gathered people rarely left. Connection with the outside world was scarce, and was mainly acted out by children and teenagers. Even so, they never seemed to want to leave this place, and Jonah could see why. Everywhere around him, people seemed so happy.Even the teenagers, who were – Jonah included – more often glum and depressed these days, seemed optimistic and pleased with their daily lives. Seeing them happy made him happy, although the families he passed by in the street still reminded him of his own, when the four of them were still living together. Now, there was him, and no one else.

He crawled out of his bed, and quickly got changed. He carried all of his belongings in a shoulder bag, which he kept by the side of his bed. The weather report had said today would be a bit warmer than usual, so he went with a dark green t-shirt he'd bought in San Fransisco a month earlier and a pair of worn jeans. He slipped into his sandals, the only footwear comfortable enough for this temperature. His glance fell on a mirror, hanging on the wall. He'd changed a lot in the last few years; all of this traveling had given him a solid tan, and having given up all attempts at grooming he'd grown a bit of a beard. [i]More stubbles than anything else, though.[/i] His green eyes stared back at him, holding both sorrow and hope, and while his brown hair had lightened a bit from the sun, it was still noticeably dark.
The room was very small, but given that he practically stayed there for free, Jonah didn't mind. He'd mainly been living off of his parents' savings for the last few years, not staying for long enough in one place to get a job, nor having any interest in getting one. He'd known from the start that the money wouldn't last forever, so he'd tried to keep his expenses low, but now he only had a few months worth of cash left. Adoración didn't see many tourists or travelers, which lead to prices being unusually low across the board. Generally, they'd treated him well. As an alien, he'd been given a few glares over the last few days – mainly from the old men playing Checkers on their front porches as he walked by – but nothing that didn't pass in a few seconds.

He had come to Adoración as a follow-up to an older lead. His mother, a somewhat high-ranking official in Industrial Illusions American, had often attended conferences across the nation, and Jonah had had to come along. During one of those conferences, he'd met and became friends with another son of an employee, Nick Chalis, who lived in San Fransisco. They'd kept in touch, although sporadically, and only for the last two months had they been talking regularly. A month earlier, they'd talked about the reason Jonah was on the road – to find the only one who knew anything about his father. An Asian man that went by the name of Hironima Takake. Jonah was almost sure it was an alias, but didn't share this with Nick.

As soon as he mentioned the name, Nick had given him a certain lead; His father had been – very loudly -on the phone with a “Hironima” only a week before, apparently talking business. Jonah had come to San Fransisco, to the Chalis residence, but Mr. Chalis himself refused to speak of the matter. As he'd left for work, Jonah and Nick had snuck into his office. Mr. Chalis kept a notebook by the phone – his father had a very bad short-term memory, Nick informed Jonah – and as they went back through that notebook, to the date when Mr. Chalis had talked to Hironima, they found two words: “Adoración” and “Hironima”. Thanking Nick and Mrs. Chalis for taking him in, Jonah headed off. It took him almost two weeks to find “Adoración”, the small town he was now renting a room in, and another two to get there.

As he reached for the doorknob, his glance fell onto what he kept on the drawer. The deck of forty-or-so cards that he always brought with him, but rarely used these days. The game of Duel Monsters had once been his life – and even made the difference between life and death for him a few times. Now, he barely ever had the time or an opponent to play against. It reminded him of the past, of the life he'd once lived. Thinking twice, he decided to bring the deck. Slipping it inside his back pocket, he left the room.
The house was quiet. The lady he was renting the room from – Alicia Bell, a retired, slightly overweight woman who was very friendly – often slept in during the weekdays, when she wasn't going off to church, which meant that Jonah had to be very silent in the morning. Sneaking past Alicia's bedroom door, he walked into the kitchen and made breakfast.

Thirty minutes later, he headed out. Locking the door behind him, he took a deep breath. Today was a Saturday, October 22nd, the day that Mr. Chalis had written down in his notebook as his appointment with Hironima. By now, Jonah had spent three days in town, and after asking around with the locals he'd heard nothing of an Asian man living in town. He'd considered that they might be lying to him, protecting their own, but he'd asked Mrs. Bell as well, and she hadn't said anything either. [i]If I can't find him here today, I'll leave. Maybe I'll go back to Nick's.[/i] His heart heavy, he left the house.

As usual, he walked down to Adoración's only public gathering place; the Sundown Cafe. With the town's few kids being out of school, most of them were sleeping in as well. Jonah had met some of them during his last few days. He had made a few “friends” - though he knew next to nothing about them – and had made a date with some of them to meet at the Sundown. Even though it was still early, one of them was already there. A thin guy of about fifteen, with a somewhat pale complexion and short-cut blonde hair. As he noticed Jonah, he waved.
“Hey, Jonah!”
Jonah smiled, and waved back. Lester Morgan was one of the first people he'd met after coming to town. Jonah had asked him about rooms for rent, and he'd referred him to Mrs. Bell. As soon as Jonah had made the arrangements for the room, he hit the town again, after being pointed to the Sundown. There, he'd met Lester again, along with two friends of his, Karen and Elvira - a black-haired girl and a blonde, both with stark blue eyes. Jonah hadn't caught their last names, and didn't ask.
“Hey, Les! What's up?”
Lester smiled back.
“Waiting for you, knucklehead! If this Hiroshima guy shows up, I don't wanna miss a second of it!”
Jonah nodded, smiling.
“That's Hironima, Les, and he might not even show up. Could just be a dead end.”
Lester shook his head.
“Nah, I don't think so. I mean, I'd never heard of the guy until you mentioned him, and we are in the middle of nowhere, but when you told me about your friend's dad? No one would ever talk about this place unless they were coming here. This is solid as a rock, Joe. ”
Jonah let out a brief laugh.
“[b][i]Joe?![/i][/b] Out of all things, you decide to call me Joe.”
Lester's smile widened into a grin."Thought you'd like it."
After a brief smile, Jonah looked down both sides of the road. He saw nothing but the old, slightly inward-leaning buildings he'd grown used to. Not a soul was on these streets this morning, except for the two of them. Jonah frowned.
“Where's Karen and Elvira? I thought they'd be here.”
Lester shrugged.
“If I was to make a guess, I'd say they're sleeping in. Just 'cause you don't go to school doesn't mean the rest of us can't enjoy our weekends, right?”
Jonah smiled.
“I guess so.”
Lester snapped the fingers of his right hand, making an audible noise in the otherwise silent town.
“That reminds me, Joe. I was going to ask you something.”
Jonah felt his throat tighten, but simply nodded at Lester. The blond-haired boy continued.
“How'd you come by this Hiroshima guy, anyway? And why aren't you in school? What's your story, Joe?”
Jonah sighed. Just what I feared.
“That's... a bit too personal, Les. I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind. My dad used to work with Hironima... before he died.”
Lester's jaw dropped.
“Your dad's dead? Oh, man, I'm sorry! Didn't mean to bring that up.”
Jonah shrugged.
“Eh, it was a few years ago now. Five, six, if not more. But I don't think it was a car accident, like the people from the company had told us. I don't believe them.”
Lester's jaw dropped.
“You think your dad was murdered?”
Jonah shook his head.
“No, but I want to know what happened. My dad was an excellent driver, and very perceptive of his surroundings. He would never get into a car accident. Now that I'm eighteen I can pursuit whatever I want. Right now, I'm going to find Hironima and force him to tell me about my father. I'll get the truth from him, whatever it takes.”
[/spoiler]


[spoiler=Chapter 2: Repercussions]

As the hours went by, Lester had many more questions for Jonah. Questions about his family, where he came from and who he'd left behind. Jonah told him almost everything, but left out his otherworldly heritage. [i]If I'd told him that, he wouldn't believe me.[/i] He said his mother had died in a plane crash, at which point Lester's jaw dropped.
”Both your parents are dead?”
He sighed.
”That's harsh. Wish I could help you.”
Jonah had shrugged.
”It's just something you gotta live with. I know they're watching me from up there,” he nodded to the skies, ”and I wouldn't wanna let 'em down.”
Lester nodded.
”Amen to that, Joe.”

He was surprised to learn that Jonah played Duel Monsters; out of the sixty-or-so kids under sixteen in town, Lester was one of the three that had picked up the worldwide game and played regularly. The older kids usually drove around with their old cars in what they called ”the plains”, a large field of dried-out grass just north of town, leaving the younger kids without a license back in town. Lester had learned to play mainly to pass the time.
”Most of it's online, though. There's this site called Virtual Duel Monsters that lets you build your own deck and things. I have a deck, but it's not as good as what I've got on VMD. It's what I'm working towards, to have that kind of deck someday.”
Jonah smiled. Online dueling hadn't been as big back in his days – he and the other regional-topping duelists had called it ”playgrounds” - a place to test deck concepts rather than actual dueling. [i]Things change, I guess.[/i]
”You didn't bring your deck, did you? Would've been a good way to pass some time. ”
Lester shook his head.
”Nah, it's still at home. If I'd known you played, I definitely would've.”
Jonah was about to respond when he heard something. Something you usually wouldn't hear on a Saturday morning in a town this far from the interstate. It was the sound of a car, blazing down a road at full speed. It was coming at them from a distance, but definitely headed their way. As far as Jonah could tell, it was a good car, too – nothing you'd see around here. He turned his head just in time to see it driving into the other end of the town and make a sharp turn to the right, disappearing in between two houses. Jonah jumped out of his seat.
“That's our ride, Les. Care for a run?”

Ten minutes later, the two of them hid behind a corner as they watched the car drive up to a house – 85 2nd St., Jonah noted in his mind – and park just outside. They'd made great effort to make sure they hadn't been seen, mainly following the car's distinctive engine sound and relying on Lester's knowledge of the town. So far, there hadn't been any reaction from the driver. As the engine quieted down, Jonah leaned out just a little more. The car door opened, and out stepped a man Jonah didn't recognize at first. He had short-cut black hair, and a thin mustache of the same color. The stubble on his chin was at least a few days old, if not more. His black suit, crimson red tie and the Industrial Illusions steel tag on his briefcase made him stick out from the rest of Adoración, but were also what gave him away to Jonah. He hadn't met the man in almost a month, just before he'd snuck into his office and copied a few words from his notebook. He turned around, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“You remember that friend I was talking about? Nick Chalis? [i]That's his dad.[/i]”
Lester, not wanting to break the silence, gave him a thumbs up.

Mr. Chalis would eventually break the silence himself. He knocked - [i]loud enough to wake up the rest of town,[/i] Jonah thought – three times on the wooden door. Holding his breath, every second felt like an eternity to Jonah. Eventually, he saw the handle turn and the door open inward, away from them. It was too dark inside for him to see anything from this angle, but Mr. Chalis could apparently see well enough. He stepped inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. Exhaling, Jonah stepped into plain sight and ran across the road. Behind him, he heard Lester whispering.
“Jonah! Get ba....”
Jonah didn't look back, but he heard Lester's sigh as he followed right behind him. The blinds in #85's window were drawn, but they still moved quickly and smoothly, in fear of being seen.

They stopped on the sidewalk, right in front of Mr. Chalis' car. The black BMW almost felt threatening to the two of them, as if they were being watched. Jonah shrugged it off, and walked the ten feet across the lawn. The resident had forgotten to take in their mail this morning, apparently – a single envelope was sticking out of the mailbox. Jonah grabbed it without much consideration, and read the address.
“Hironima Yasuo, eh? So that's what you call yourself these days.”
He felt the excitement practically exploding inside him. The last three years of searching had finally paid off. Now, he was one step closer to finding out the truth.

He was just about to put the envelope back when he heard Mr. Chalis's loud, booming voice from the inside.
“Do you have any idea what you've done, Hironima?! You're not going to walk away from this one! We've put almost nine months into your little machine, and now you're telling me...”
He heard a loud thump from the inside. Soon afterward, a muffled cry, and a voice with a slight Asian accent.
“Please, Simon, I just need a few more weeks! It's almost ready, I just need another pa-”
Another thump and a much more audible cry.
“First off, don't ever call me Simon. You call me boss, or Mr. Chalis, but not Simon. You don't deserve that, Yasuo. Secondly, you've been spending Industrial Illusions' resources for the last nine months without showing any progress whatsoever, and you expect us to give you more time?! Does that sound reasonable to you, Yasuo? Remember what we talked about last time? I expected concrete results by now, but you only feed me excuses and lies!”
Jonah heard a sigh.
“This is it, Yasuo. This deal is over. I'll send some guys tomorrow.”
He could hear the panic in Hironima's voice as he spoke up.
“No! You can't do this! I've worked day and night to get it finished, and I'm almost there! Give me one more week, Mr. Chalis!”
“Have a good day, Yasuo.”
Jonah heard Mr. Chalis' footsteps coming closer, and he dashed off. Lester noticed his sudden movements and followed suit. The two of them turned around the corner just as Mr. Chalis opened the door. They practically dove around the corner onto the intersecting street, and tried to catch their breaths.
“A bit too close, Joe, bit too close.”
Jonah nodded.
“Just wanted to make sure... I didn't miss anything. It's the right place all right... he's in there.”
They heard the engine rev up, and froze. Thankfully, the car drove away from them, further down the street. Lester took a deep breath, and nodded.
“So, you want to go talk to the guy?”
After a few seconds of pondering, Jonah shook his head. Lester raised his eyebrows.
“I thought you said you'd been looking for the guy for three years! If it was me, I'd be in there right now.”
Jonah looked down onto the sidewalk.
“You didn't hear him, Les. The man just lost his job, and probably everything he cares about is going to be taken away from him. He's not going to say anything, no matter what I do. Now that we know where he lives, it'll be easy to find him.”
Lester shook his head.
“You don't think he's just gonna leave and take it all with him? Or worse, “slip and fall” on one of them butcher knives, or something?
Jonah's jaw dropped just a little.
“I hadn't thought of that. Sure, he's pretty much lost everything, but I don't think he would-”
The sound of breaking glass rung throughout the street, shortly followed by an alarm bell. Jonah and Lester immediately got to their feet, and dashed onto 2nd Street. The blind-covered window at #85 had been broken from the inside, the wooden frame shattered. A thick cloud of black smoke burst out through the opening, trailing into the sky. Someone was lying on the lawn.

On the other side of town, Simon Chalis was cruising back home in the BMW. He had left the briefcase in the back, with one corner slightly bloodied. [i]He needed to learn his place. He'd been playing in the big leagues without a team for too long.[/i] He had personally worked with Yasuo Hironima on this very same project in the beginning, last February, before the Japanese man had gotten clearance from their supervisors to work alone and receive special funding for doing so. For a few months they'd kept in touch, sharing reports and test results, but eventually Yasuo had withdrawn entirely. Simon had started working on different projects within the company, and gained a bit of a reputation around the office. A month earlier, he'd received a special mission; monitor Yasuo's progress, and if he didn't live up to expectations, Simon Chalis had the authority to fire him. Simon had done so most efficiently – getting to beat [i]that lazy bastard[/i] up was just a bonus.
While keeping one eye on the road, he ran his right index finger across the touch-screen surface of his car's security panel. After a break-in into his car four months earlier, he had grown paranoid, and rarely left the car unmonitored. There were no less than three cameras built into the car at different angles, giving full coverage from all angles. The car may have been untouched, and the streets had looked pretty much deserted save for a few kids playing around, but it never hurt to look. He pressed Play.

At first, the three shots showed only a calm, peaceful street, with himself walking into Yasuo's home with the briefcase. As he closed the door, everything was still Wait. There was something going on. The moment he closed Yasuo's door, someone ran around the corner and up to the house. A young man, possibly seventeen or eighteen years old, with neck-long brown hair and a bit of a tan, wearing some sort of a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Simon thought he'd seen him before, but couldn't place him. Pausing the footage, he zoomed in on the guy's face. It took him a few seconds to recognize him. [i]Nick's friend. The guy that asked.[/i] Simon couldn't remember his name. How the hell did he know how to find him? He'd definitely have a long talk with Nick when he got back. He pressed Play again, and started looking for a good place to turn the car around.
[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Chapter 3: The Destroyer]
Smoke was fuming out intensely through the window as Jonah and Lester ran up to the house. Around them, doors were opening and blinds were being rolled up, faces appearing in the windows. The people of Adoración rarely saw anything exciting, much less in their own town. To them, ”terrorism” was something that happened in the big cities and in other countries – definitely not in their little town. Jonah couldn't help to smile, just a little, while running. [i]They'll be talking about this for weeks. Months, maybe.[/i] The door at the house just down the road from Hironima's opened up, and an old Latino man stepped outside. Jonah had seen him before, down at the Sundown playing checkers. The man was at least seventy, his black hair striped with gray and had put on quite some weight in his years, but was otherwise healthy for his age. The old brown eyes were still sharp, and so was the mind behind them. Jonah had seen the man solve Sudoku-puzzles in less than seven minutes, and the Thursday crosswords – covering the entire back of the newspaper – in under half an hour. His name was Diego Rodriguez, and Jonah had become surprisingly good friends with the man during the past few days. He reminded Jonah of someone, but he couldn't place it.
“Hey, Jonah, what's all the ruckus about?”
While running, Jonah nodded toward Hironima's house.
“Not sure! Me and Les are checking it out!”
The old man grumbled audibly.
“I used to disassemble engines in 'Nam long before you were even considered, boy. You're not going in there alone!”

Lester was the first to reach the Japanese man lying on his front lawn. He'd seen blood trickling out from beneath the man, and feared the worst.
“Mister Hironima, you alright?
No response. Lester knelt beside the man, and, grabbing hold of his arm and leg, he turned him over. Seeing exactly what had happened, he hissed. This is bad... real bad. The front of the man's once light blue shirt was soaked in blood, and his skin was awfully pale. Lester practically ripped open the man's shirt, and saw the cause of the problem; a large, roughly triangular shard of glass was buried in Hironima's abdomen, sticking out downward. Had the man been sitting down, it would have impaled his left leg as well. His eyes were going rapidly from side to side, only barely focusing on Lester. The blonde boy heard Jonah coming up from behind, and turned his head.
“Call the hospital, Joe. He's...”
He froze, his eyes on the elderly Latino coming up from behind.
“Mr. Rodriguez, get inside and call the hospital! This place could blow any sec-”
The old man shook his head.
“I've seen hell before. Not just in 'Nam. I think I can take care of myself.”
He smiled.
“You should watch out, Lester. This place can blow any second.”

While the two locals were chatting about, Jonah – sure they would eventually get about to calling the hospital – walked over to the house. The flow of smoke had slowed down a bit, but it was still coming out in a steady stream. He frowned. As he had walked closer, he had expected to feel some heat, from a fire inside or some heated winds – but no. If anything, the air was chillier than before. Just as Jonah took another step, his right foot connecting with the grass, the handle on Hironima's front door [i]turned.[/i] He froze instantly. [i]There's someone else in there?[/i] He couldn't believe it. Moments before, he had stood outside that door, listening to the two people inside. There hadn't been anyone else, neither speaking nor mentioned. Jonah simply stared as the door opened slowly before him, unable to move a muscle.

Simon Chalis watched the rest of the tape on the short drive back. Nick's friend hadn't come alone. There was someone else, a blonde boy that he didn't recognize at all. [i]Must be someone from the town.[/i] Keeping one eye on the road and one eye on the display, he saw the blonde kid standing around with his back to the car, while Nick's friend ran up to the house. He smiled.
“A little eavesdropper, eh? Is that what it's about? You want some company secrets, eh? I don't know how you found Hironima, but you're about to find something else. Something that could be... unpleasant.”
He turned off the display, and sped up. Adoración was only half a mile away.

Lester sighed. Mr. Rodriguez was making a point.
“Fine, I'll call the hospital from your house. You make sure this guy stays alive till they get here.”
The old man nodded.
“Glad you can see reason, boy. Now, get in there, and don't even dare thinking about stealing something. I've known your parents since before you were born, Lester.
The blonde boy snickered, showing a brief smile.
“I would never, Mr. Rodriguez.”
Just as Lester turned around, a cold wind swept down his back, sending chills down his spine. He froze. This October had been unusually warm, even for southern California, and cold winds weren't something they got a lot of. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Mr. Rodriguez was shivering.
“[i]Step aside, little child, this battle isn't yours to fight.[/i]”
He tried to keep walking, but couldn't move an inch. Even his arms were stuck, as if he was walking through some thick mud.
“What's going on?!”
He hissed. Every word had felt like a rusty chain being shoved up through his throat. In the distance, he heard the sound of an approaching car.

Jonah gulped. Seeing the man – [i]or whatever that thing is[/i] – standing in the doorway to Hironima's house reminded him too well of what had happened three years earlier. It was humanoid, very thin, and at least six foot six, but that was all Jonah could make out. Looking directly at it strained his eyes, as if he was looking into a light bulb... or a pitch-black night sky. The man's shape was distorted, changing size and distinctive features by the second. As it walked, Jonah could hear both footsteps and the clattering of insect's feet.
“[i]Step aside, little child, this battle isn't yours to fight.[/i]”
Its voice had a hundred tones, speaking, whispering, screaming in harmony. Jonah felt the hold on his legs loosen, but remained exactly where he was. Behind him, he could hear Lester shout, and wondered exactly the same thing – but asked a different question.
“Who are you?”
Even though Jonah's mind refused to accept the man's form, he got the feeling that he was smiling.
“[i]I have had many names throughout the aeons, little child. The Destroyer, Death-Breather, Shaiya'za... but the others call me Versago[/i].”
Jonah shivered. [i]Now [b]that[/b] doesn't sound good.[/i]
“Did you serve the Dreadroot? Was he your maste-”
Versago erupted into what Jonah was sure was laughter – to him, it sounded like a thundering storm and a raging fire.
“I, serve the Dreadroot? Do you think me a fool, child? An infant, playing with toys? No, that weakling was not my master. Had I been free to walk the Multiverse in his brief lifetime, I would have crushed him as the maggot he was.”
As Versago stepped onto the grass, Jonah saw it change. Before his eyes, the grass turned into a swarm of flies, then to roses, to crawling worms and caterpillars and even – to Jonah's disgust – what looked like the paws of a dog. Just like Versago's shape itself, they never stayed in the same form for even a second. He felt all the hairs on his body stand on end, and cold sweat break out on his forehead. [i]This guy's completely honest. No hyperbole, no nothing.[/i] Yet, his mind couldn't comply.
[i]Stronger than the Dreadroot? This can't be![/i]

Diego Rodriguez had some similar thoughts as he stood on the grass, his only movement being the shivering of his arms and clattering of his teeth.
[i]I thought I'd seen everything.[/i] The thing that had stepped out of the door looked like nothing he had ever seen.
No, that's not right. It looks like... everything I've seen. In the ever-changing shape, he saw the birth of his son, the bombings in 'Nam, the clouded skies at his wife Roberta's funeral, his dog Rufio playing in the streets of San Francisco outside their apartment, all in a matter of seconds. He saw arms, legs, horns and hooves. [i]That thing's out of this world. That is not a child of God.[/i] Except for the creature's voice, all was silent. As its last words rang out, he cleared his throat.
“Begone, foul beast! You do not belong here!”
Something shifted in the thing's posture, and waves of pain exploded through Diego's head. His scream could be heard for at least a mile.
“[i]You dare speak to Versago in such manners?! You are not worthy of my presence, human; be glad I didn't come for you. What you feel now is only my gaze.[/i]”
The elderly Latino gasped for breath as the pain started to mellow out, being replaced with fear.
[i]He didn't do anything. He just looked at me.[/i]
“God, help me through this! God, hear my words!”

Simon Chalis parked a few blocks down from Hironima's apartment.
[i]If the kid's still there, I don't want to give him time to run away.[/i] He'd been looking for Hironima back at the house; he'd probably come there to talk to him.
[i]He'd better not have given anything away, or I'll make sure he never does it again.[/i] As he stepped out of the car, he noticed something. There was a thick, dark gray pillar of smoke rising up from somewhere in town. If his sense of location wasn't entirely off – [i]definitely possible this far from civilization[/i] – it came straight from Hironima's house.
“The bastard's destroying the machine!”
As he ran down the street, all thoughts of Nick's friend – [i]Joseph? Jonathan?[/i] - and the townie gone, he noticed something else. It was cold. Unusually cold. He'd spent a Christmas with his in-laws up in Alaska a few years back, and this reminded him of that. He shrugged. Freaking global warming, mucking things up.

Lester heard Mr. Chalis' footsteps long before the man actually showed up, but paid little attention to them. Ever since Versago had first appeared, he had been completely paralyzed, unable to move a muscle, with his back to the house. Mr. Rodriguez' desperate prayers scared him. He'd known the man ever since he was born, heard his stories from the war and all the things he'd seen and lost, but never once had he seen him be scared. It wasn't like him. The footsteps from down the street came closer and closer. Only a few seconds later, the businessman – still wearing the same suit as before, but no longer carrying his briefcase – stepped out from behind the building and out in front of the lawn.
“Alright, Joseph, I know you're...”
Lester saw his eyes widen in surprise [i]and fear? Is that fear? Terror?[/i] He was looking at something behind Lester, who could only imagine what he saw. Versago. His face turned a shade grayer.
“What the [i]hell[/i] is that thi-”
He never got to finish that question. Lester suppressed the urge to throw up as the man's face started to melt.

Versago's movement was far too quick for Jonah and Diego to see. Suddenly, the creature's arm had extended beyond them, certainly towards the man who had just arrived. With his legs still free, Jonah turned around – and instantly regretted doing so. Just as the grass had changed – [i]was still changing[/i] – at Versago's touch, so did Mr. Chalis. The skin of his face had turned to water, pouring down his cheeks and jaw like a waterfall in spring. A split second later, a flock of spiders scattered across the man's chin and chest, leaving no trace of water behind. The man could have screamed, if his throat hadn't been jammed by a nest of needle-bugs and a cobra hadn't been dancing in his throat where his tongue had once been. The whole process had taken three-four seconds, if not less. The man collapsed on the street, dead long before he touched the ground. Versago retracted his arm as quickly as he had shot it out.
“[i]You annoy me, human. You and your kind are always so reluctant to accept your weakness. Though we have not been able to act, we have watched as the gods of old mixed their blood with your kin. Their heritage is what separates you from the fishes and pigs you eat, humans. You know so little, yet act so boldly.[/i]”
Jonah turned back to face him.
“You... you monster!”
Versago laughed again, this time with the sound of a city burning, thousands of chilling screams that burst into the night.
“[i]And for a moment, I thought you were different. Even though you've seen more than the others, walked the paths of the old gods, you still refuse to accept your weakness. Jonah, was it not?[/i]”
Jonah gasped. He knows about the Wickspire.
“Where did you hear that, Versago? The few people who were there aren't exactly the kind who'd tell.”
The crescent-moon smile again.
“[i]I have ways of knowing things, child.[/i]”
Jonah sighed. [i]There'll be time for explanations later, I guess.[/i] Then, an idea sprung into his mind. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, and found what he was looking for. Even after all these years, it felt different from the rest of his deck – a warmth that he could only describe as [i]home. [/i]
“Yes, I'm Jonah. Jonah Morae, descendant of the Tormentor.”
He pulled out the card, and flipped it face-up. The familiar image of himself, similar but different, looked back at him. [i]Heir of the Tormentor[/i] was the card that had started it all, and it would prove useful once again. The card lit up in red flames that spread across Jonah's body, not burning him but warming him, keeping away the cold winds. A tongue of flame shot out from his left arm, the hand not holding the card, and into the air, where it started to branch out into five distinct strands. Within moments, the flames solidified, taking the form of a semi-transparent human, wearing black plate armor with blue trims. As the human closed his fist, a large, slightly curved sword appeared in his right hand. From his shoulders, a pair of white feathery wings sprouted. While his face was almost identical to Jonah's, his hair was much longer – reaching across his shoulders down to his chest. He looked down at Jonah, who couldn't help but to smile.
“It's good to see you again, Kyaran.”
[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Chapter 4: A Deal With The Devil]
Without warning, the cold wind vanished and the hold on Lester's body loosened. He felt greatly relieved as he fell to his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath. Each deep inhale tasted like sweet nectar, truly a gift from God. It was as if he was breathing pure greatness, pure excitement, rather than a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen. He tried his best not to look at Mr. Chalis, who was still lying on the street just a few feet away from him. Thankfully, the man in the black suit was lying face-down.
[i]Or... chest-down, at least. Not much of a face left...[/i] He couldn't hold it back any longer. The image of Mr. Chalis' face flowing away from the rest of his skull was still burned into his mind, even there when he closed his eyes. With his hands steady on the lawn, he threw up.

Diego stumbled over to Lester as the hold released on his arms and legs. Just as the child threw up, the old man knelt beside him. The child had taken the blunt force of the demon's – he was sure it was a demon now, there was no other word for it - assault, and was now suffering the consequences. For a split second, he reminded Diego of his oldest son, while they were still living on the east coast. He'd come home from prom alone, with no trace of his date Becky Wildwood, and promptly thrown up on the kitchen floor. He had had the exact same look on his face. Later, it turned out that Becky Wildwood had died in a drunk driving accident that night. His son hadn't been behind the wheel, thankfully, but he had seen it happen. Diego had spoken the exact same words to him that he know said to Lester.
“Just let it go, child. God knows that you've seen more than you should have to.”
Lester turned his head slightly, his mouth still hanging open. A trickle of vomit hung from the corner of his mouth, giving him a slightly rabid look.
“It's not over, is it?”
Diego cast a glance towards Jonah, who was now standing in between them and Versago. There was something about the young man; Diego almost thought he could see an aura around him. He shook his head.
“It's not over yet, Lester, but have faith. We have someone powerful on our side.”
He nodded to the clouds above.
“Not just Him.”
Lester threw up another chunk of food, leaving a yellow stain on the grass. Even so, Diego saw determination in the boy's eyes, determination that he wished his son had had on that day. He might've taken it better if he had. The boy's gaze was unstable; it flickered uncontrollably from Diego to Jonah and back.
“You can tell, can't you? Jonah's special. He's not like anyone else.”
The elderly Latino nodded.
“He's not like the rest of us, that's for sure. That young man is surely blessed.”


Across the street from them, James Harrington was having a terrible, terrible morning. He'd woken up at six with his throat throbbing and a terrible cough. He'd taken his pills and downed them with a cup of coffee. No sugar, no milk, no nothing – the same way he'd been drinking coffee for the last forty years. Now, he couldn't go back to sleep. He'd been sitting in the kitchen, still in his robe, for the last two hours. At sixty-one, he needed every hour of sleep he could get, and now he'd be in a terrible mood all day. Not that he usually wasn't, but still.

Ever since his wife had left him five years earlier for a younger man, he'd found it very hard to actually appreciate things. He'd moved here from Los Angeles after the divorce to try to find some calm, and until now it had worked. Now, chaos had broken out just across the street. It had started with an explosion ten minutes earlier, and now something far worse was going on. One man was lying dead in the street, one bleeding to death, and one kid throwing up on the lawn. He recognized the neighbor from across the street, Diego Rodriguez, trying to console the kid. He and Diego would usually play checkers down at the Sundown on Thursdays, and he'd gotten to know the man pretty well over the last few years. He was a bit religious – “all that God jibber-jabber” as James himself called it – but other than that, he was a good guy. The Harrington household had been strictly atheist while James had been growing up, and to this day, religion bothered him to no end. Diego was alright, though.

Even so, James Harrington couldn't get out of his chair to help him; mainly because of what was happening behind them. The only one still standing was a kid, some out-of-towner. From here, the kid looked confident to him, which James found very hard to believe. What was standing beyond the kid frankly terrified him. The [i]thing,[/i] the only word he could think of for whatever that was, couldn't be explained. It was something undefined, something horrible. He'd seen the man in the suit coming up to the lawn, shouting something... only to be shot down instantly. He sighed.
“I can't just sit here and rot, though.”
He reached over to his phone. Even if he couldn't get over there, he could send someone else. He dialed the number to the Castor Medical Center, and waited.
It took a few seconds for him to connect.
“You've reached the CMC, hello?”
James Harrington cleared his throat.
“Hello. I'm James Harrington, and I've got something interesting to tell you...”

Jonah could feel the warmth spread through his body as the cold wind blew away, heated up by the red fire that circled them. He smiled.
“Thanks for the help, Kyaran. I couldn't do this without you.”
The spirit nodded, and hovered down to Jonah's side. As his feet touched the grass, a warm wind rippled through the lawn.
“It's been a while, Jonah. You need my help?”
Jonah nodded at him, then at Hironima, who was still lying on his back on the lawn.
“I'm sorry we haven't talked in a while, but yes, I need your help. I found him, Kyaran. I found the man we're looking for.”
Kyaran looked at the Japanese man, and raised an eyebrow.
“You sure, Jonah? He looks pretty pathetic to me.”
Jonah nodded again, and Kyaran sighed. He'd learned to trust the boy's judgment, especially in matters that concerned mortals. To Kyaran, who was used to seeing powerful individuals both before and after his death and ascension, the run-of-the-mill human was very uninteresting.
“Fine, fine, I'll help him.”
He took off, still connected by a stand of red flame. Ever since they had returned from the Wickspire three years earlier, whenever Jonah summoned Kyaran's presence into this world, they had been far more united than before. The two souls had become part of something greater, something more powerful.

Kyaran landed on the grass, sending another ripple of heat through the grass and lashed out a tongue of the flame towards Hironima. Instead of burning him, however, the flames circled in on the wound in his stomach. Flashing in white, the flames buried themselves deeper, and within moments the glass fragment practically flew out from the gash and landed on the grass at Kyaran's feet. Moments later, the wound started to heal up.

After sending a brief thought to Kyaran ([i]those two are friends, too[/i]), Jonah turned back to face Versago, who was still smiling. The Destroyer's eyes – two beacons of ever-shifting color – were aimed directly at Kyaran.
“[i]You become more and more interesting with every second, Jonah Morae. Here I thought all of your power was borrowed.[/i]”
Jonah nodded, still rather discomforted by what Versago knew.
“Well, I don't like to brag, but I'm a direct descendant.”
A crescent of white – surprisingly solid – appeared just below Versago's eyes. Jonah was confounded. [i]He's smiling? Now that's a first.[/i]
“[i]How fascinating. I may have to come back for you later, Jonah Morae. Now, I have other business to attend to.[/i]”
Jonah looked to his side, where Hironima was still lying on the grass, though the bleeding had stopped. He shook his head.
“Sorry, Versago, but that will have to wait. I've been looking for this man for the last three years. I'm not about to let him go now.”
“[i]Touching, Jonah Morae, but fruitless. You don't think you have the power to stop me, do you?[/i]”
Jonah shook his head.
“If you are as strong as you say you are, Versago, I'm nothing compared to you. That's why I want to propose a deal.”

Lester felt a current of hot air passing by him. His head was hurting, and he felt it turning worse by the minute. [i]This can't be just from throwing up. It's because of him.[/i] He shook his head. [i]Because of[/i] it. [i]That thing's not a man.[/i] He had heard it speak, recognized the voice as a man's – many of the boys and men he knew, actually – but no, Versago was not a man. Unbeknownst to him, his thoughts mirrored those of Diego Rodriguez a minute earlier. [i]A demon, that's what he is[/i]. He coughed up the last of his breakfast, by now a yellow mush, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He looked at Mr. Rodriguez, who was still beside him.
“We've got to help, Mr. Rodriguez. Jonah can't do this...”, he coughed again, “...on his own.”
Mr. Rodriguez shook his head. Lester saw fear in the old man's eyes, but also a kind of determination that he had rarely seen before.
“No, Lester, but I know things. God is watching over us all, son, and He wouldn't let us die today. He brought Jonah to us for a reason.”
Lester nodded.
“I know, Mr. Rodriguez.”
Taking a deep breath, he climbed to his feet and stood up. His head was still hurting, and he was starting to feel dizzy, but still, he stood up.
“But that doesn't mean we can't do some of His work for Him.
He nodded at Hironima.
“We need to get [i]him[/i] to the hospital, to get him safe and-”
That was when the angel appeared.

A pulse of emotion spread from Versago, passing through Jonah. Annoyance, definitely, but also interest.
“[i]A deal, Jonah Morae?[/i]”
Jonah nodded.
“A simple deal, too.”
He reached into his back pocket with his left hand, with the Heir of the Tormentor card still in his right hand, and pulled out the rest of his deck. Versago eyed it with increasing skepticism.
“[i]A card game, Jonah Morae? Surely, you cannot be serious.[/i]”
Jonah smiled. Unbeknownst to him, Versago had quoted a comedic masterpiece.
“I am serious. You, me, and a duel. I win, and I get to talk to Hironima before you can take him. You win, and I go with you when you go back to wherever. Sound good?”
Versago took a step towards him.
“[i]Humans actually settle arguments with these games? I can only imagine what you were like before the Tormentor's kin interfered. Nonetheless, if defeating you in a card game means you'll go willingly, then I accept your deal, Jonah Morae.[/i]”
The crescent-moon shape appeared on his face again.
“[i]But this shape is impractical for such activities, Jonah Morae. [/i]”
Before Jonah's eyes, Versago changed appearance. The irregularity of his shape vanished, it stopped changing and assumed a single form. He shrunk slightly, but not by much, and revealed his skin to be somewhat pale. His hair was brown, like Jonah's, and his eyes were dark green. He was wearing a brown jacket and green camouflage trousers, and a pair of glasses. Jonah gulped. He recognized it alright. He had not met the man in nine years. The last time he had seen him was at a good friend's funeral, and even then he hadn't been there in person. By then, he was long dead. Jonah had spent the last three years of his life trying to find him. Richard Morae smiled at him, a wide wolfish grin.
“Surprised to see me, son?”
[/spoiler]

[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__4866654"]Chapter 5: Hatred and Sorrow[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__4866654"] [/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__4866654"]to[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__4866654"] Chapter 8: Separation[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__5037599"]Chapter 9: Catastrophe[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__5044908"]Chapter 10: The Sickness[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__5046428"]Chapter 11: Survival[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__5046568"]Chapter 12: Deus Ex Machina[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__5052488"]Chapter 13: Desperate Measures[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway/page__view__findpost__p__5052813"]Chapter 14: Those Less Fortunate[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway-pg-16/page__view__findpost__p__5065770"]Chapter 15: Fires in the Sky[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway-pg-16/page__view__findpost__p__5067509"]Chapter 16: Escaping the Nightmare[/url]
[url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/232922-legacy-of-the-tormentor-the-dark-doorway-pg-16/page__view__findpost__p__5072829"]Chapter 17: Unforeseen Allies[/url]

[Vector Nightmare]

Posting in an epic thread.

No, but seriously.

A small introduction for anyone who might read this: Umbra and I joined around the same period, a few months give-and-take. We also started our fanfics at nearly the same time. That was a good three years ago. Most members around hadn't even joined by the time that era came to an end. Needless to say, it was a good time. The fanfic section wasn't filled with one-chapter atrocities that made your stomach churn just from clicking the thread, with a handful of good stories hidden amongst them (although being fair, it seems to be on the uprise lately). Back then, you were guaranteed to find some fairly decent fiction to read, and lasting fics were not a faraway dream. And back then, when you said lasting fics, you immediately knew what you were talking about: Chronicles of the Ascension, and Legacy of the Tormentor.

I think Umbra does himself injustice when he says that Legacy of the Tormentor was once considered one of YCM's greatest fanfics. It certainly was, and still is, one of YCM's very best works. Simply for the fact that it is a completed story, which spins its tale from the beginning to the end with an extremely satisfying flow, without being shamelessly dropped in the middle because of lousy authors (I'm looking at you, Ixigo), it deserves that honor despite whatever weaknesses it might have when held before our - much more trained and critical, compared to back then - eyes. If there is one story in YCM's fanfiction archive that most deserves a sequel, it's this one.

Reading the prologue of this made me remember how much I miss those days, from time to time. It also made it clear that I need to get to re-reading the original story, because I seem to have a lot of holes by now =/.

All I can say from reading the first chapter is that it perfectly outlines your improvement as a writer over the past years. Being one who experienced Jonah's story, even if it was so long ago, I felt no problem instantly connecting to him as a character. I actually had no memory of how Jonah looked like, so I went back to the original and searched it out, and I found those winful sprites <3... I like the way you re-introduced him. But, I'm a bit skeptical about his thoughts being written as normal text, at first I did not understand what was being said there. Might I suggest you use italics?

The plot is kicked into gear really fast. Though the "teenager with mysteriously dead parent(s) goes off to find the truth about the story" isn't the most unique idea ever, the fact that this is actually connected to the original story elevates it to a whole new level. Reading the original LotT is definitely a good idea prior to delving into this.

The only thing I'd say was somewhat of a problem was the Lester fellow. While he was fine as a character, generally, he seemed to have... no real motivation for being there. It was kind of confusing - he seemed to know what Jonah was doing in the city, but he had no idea as to why. I can't attribute it to necessary exposition either, since we - as readers - already knew everything Jonah told Lester. So... that part left me with an iffy feel. Also, he seemed kind of, well, mature, for a 15-year-old kid in a backwater place. Just saying.

High quality writing, check.
Epic story, check.
Nostalgia value, check.

Great work. Looking forward to more.

[Umbra]

[spoiler=Original post]I can't thank you enough. Chronicles of the Ascension was my inspiration for writing Inheritance of the World - whose story will be concluded in The Dark Doorway as well - which (as most of you probably don't know) was my first serious work as a writer, and the "prequel" story to Legacy of the Tormentor. You and I have seen a lot of things over the past few years, and while the average may have been a bit higher back then, there's still hope. New stars will be born.
The thoughts being written as normal text is probably a result of bad formatting; let me fix that.

I think I included some description of Jonah, though it might've been on the brief side. I'm trying to introduce Jonah to a new audience as well as re-introduce him to the dedicated few who knew him back in 08.

I admit that Lester was very quickly thrown together, mainly as an excuse to give Jonah some lines in this chapter. I broke one of my own rules when it comes to writing; don't rush it, or you get things like this. Lester will be fixed shortly.
[/spoiler]


[spoiler=Chapter 5: Hatred and Sorrow]

[b]Note:[/b] The first time a custom card appears, which will happen to some extent in this chapter, it is marked in [i]italics[/i] and can be found in the “Cards” spoiler at the bottom of the chapter.

Kyaran had never been one for dramatic entrances. Most of the people he met these days, be they living or not – had already seen him so many times that even his new appearance had become a thing of the past. As far as he knew, he was the only spirit whose manifestation had changed since... perhaps the dawn of time itself. Cain, his older brother ([i]my only brother now[/i], Kyaran constantly had to remind himself) and the wisest spirit he knew, had examined his new form for days, and found only one logical conclusion. The incredible power that had surged through Jonah Morae at the top of the Wickspire had forever altered his soul, and granting him more power than ever before. It would also, Cain theorized, slow down the natural maturing and decay of his body, granting him an increased lifespan. What Kyaran was experiencing was probably the aftermath of this elevation, with his spirit adjusting to Jonah's body. [i]You might change again, little brother. Our blood runs strong in Jonah; I wouldn't be surprised if he elevates again, perhaps to Father's level.[/i]

The younger spirit already suspected that Jonah was as powerful as himself, if not greater, but he lacked the finesse that came with millennias of practice. If he had tried to heal Yasuo Hironima, he would have burned away the man's flesh. Hearing Cain's words, that Jonah might become as strong as their father – one of the most powerful individuals in the universe, who had sustained his existence for billions of years through sheer willpower – without being able to control it, he became very afraid. Days later, he had appeared to Jonah, telling him a simple sentence: [i]I'm going to train you.[/i]

That hadn't gone as planned. During their last practice session, Jonah had nearly destroyed Kyaran's existence, only being halted by the combined efforts of Kyaran and Cain, who had come to oversee the training and explain the technicalities of his power to Jonah. Since then, Jonah had been reluctant to use his natural ability, and Kyaran hadn't been able to convince him. That had been a year ago, in a place these humans called Austintexas, and since then his manifestations into the real world had been sporadic. Not until now had Jonah declared it safe for him to appear into the real world. The reactions of Jonah's two friends – the elderly dark-haired, tanned man who reminded Kyaran of someone from Jonah's memory, and the weak-of-stomach blonde boy beside him – were simply delightful. He had chosen to appear as a tongue of flame, bursting from the ground in a pillar of light. When he manifested, hovering a few feet above ground, he had his sword raised high and wings spread wide. The boy looked scared half to death, but the man managed to suppress his emotions. As he came forth, Kyaran could still sense them; fear, combined with a sense of content.

[i]We were right[/i] was the one thought that surged through Diego Rodriguez' mind as he slowly approached the angel. [i]Angels exist, God exists, and we were right. All this time, we were right![/i] Then, something struck him.
What if this wasn't an angel, but another demon in disguise? [i]Perhaps the demon summoned an ally into this world![/i] His gaze fell on the tongue of flame that seemed to emerge from the angel[i]/demon'[/i]s back, traced it through the air until his eyes were on Jonah. The red flame now surrounded the young man ([i]or he is imprisoned?[/i]), but he didn't seem to feel any pain. Suddenly, the angel smiled, and shook his head.
“Don't fear, young one. I am not a demon.”
Diego gasped. [i]He read my mind! He could hear my thoughts![/i] He sighed.
“Then again, why shouldn't you be able to. You are an angel, after all.
The angel shook his head again, leaving Diego confounded. He looked at the angel's face, realizing now how much alike he and Jonah looked. The only difference, besides the angel's waist-length hair, was their eyes. In Jonah's eyes, Diego had seen great sadness, but also courage and righteousness. The angel's eyes held an ancient, gray wisdom, an intelligence beyond any human being's. [i]God knows they've both seen more than they should have to. [/i] Finally, the angel responded.
“I am not an angel, not exactly. I am Kyaran. However, the explanations will have to wait.”
He nodded at the Japanese man, lying on the lawn of his house (which had by now gone down in property value by a lot) and actually regaining consciousness. Kyaran lowered himself to ground level, still standing at least a foot taller than Diego. The Latino man suddenly realized that Hironima wasn't hurt anymore. The wound in his gut was closed shut, and the glass shard was lying at their feet. He looked at Kyaran, who simply nodded.
“Jonah thinks he's important, so I stabilized him. I can only restore physical wounds, though; I suspect he may have some mental symptoms. Thankfully, the people you call [i]doctors[/i] are already on their way. Prepare him for their arrival.”

Hearing Kyaran command Mr. Rodriguez and Lester around behind him only faintly, Jonah was struck by fear. His father looked exactly the way he remembered him, from before the accident; the brown hair that both of his sons had inherited still in a mess, the light blue eyes that none of them had looking at him from behind a pair of circular glasses were both there. He was wearing a light brown jacket, the same jacket that Jonah had helped his mother pick out for his fortieth birthday, and the dark blue jeans that he always wore to work.
“Took you long enough to find me, son. How long has it been, now? Nine years? Ten years?”
Biting his lip, Jonah shook his head. Even the same voice, the deep voice that had scared Jonah when he was three.
“Eight... eight years, ten months. Two weeks.”
Jonah wasn't sure whether to jump into his father's arms or not. It looked like him, sounded like him, and reminded Jonah so much of him that he almost wanted to cry, but his common sense said no. No less than ten minutes ago, his father had been Versago, a creature of unmistakable power that had killed Simon Chalis. Richard Morae smiled.
“That's it. I remember now. Not long before Christmas, right? That must've been horrible for you, son, but I assure you it wasn't as horrible as crashing into that tree. The doctors were wrong, Jonah, when they said that my death came swiftly.”
He shook his head.
“It took hours, Jonah. I spent a very long time in that car before I finally faded. For us, Jonah, death isn't merciful. The power that runs in our family, on your mother's side as well as in mine, makes us less susceptible to pain and suffering. I could feel my back break, my stomach split open and my guts spill out on the seat before my skull gave in, and even then I still lived. It may only have been a few hours, but to me that was an eternity of pain.”
Jonah didn't want to believe, but yet he did. He knew that his father was of the Tormentor's kin, descending from a line of the family that hailed from Scandinavia, and he had seen their progenitor survive being cut in half for billions of years, but he didn't want to believe. There were only three words on his lips.
“I'm sorry, Father.”
Richard Morae's smile widened to a grin.
“Sorry? Oh, you'll be sorry, Jonah. I drifted from place to place for six long years, never finding a place of comfort. I only felt sorrow and grief from you and your mother, Jonah, and nothing but hatred from Eric. He didn't like me back then, did he?”
Jonah nodded. Eric had said many times that Father didn't deserve their grief when he died on them like that. Then, shortly after his sixteenth birthday, he had left for New York. The day before, he'd told Jonah that he'd had enough of Red Sky City. [i]Enough grief.[/i] They rarely saw him after that, and when they did their conversations were forced, like a fool staggering upon a stage. His father nodded.
“I have to thank you though, Jonah. When you destroyed the Wickspire, you gave me a new home. Up until then, your hatred and sorrow had fueled me, but with Eric gone all of that changed. I was hungry, Jonah, and you had stopped feeding me.”
He smiled.
”Then, as if he had heard me, Versago drew me to him from halfway across the universe. I became part of his existence, Jonah. I gave him of my memories and my ability, and in return he gave me a home.”
Jonah felt that the tears weren't far away, but he managed to hold them back.
“I had no idea, Father, that you had become such a thing. If I had known, I would've done everything... everything I could...”
The tears finally broke through. First from the corner of his right eye, and then his left, in a steady stream down his face.
“I'll get you back, Father, I promise. One day, you'll be walking with us again.”
To Jonah's surprise, Richard Morae laughed.
“You don't get it, Jonah. You just don't get it. I don't want to come back. [i]I hate you for letting me die, Jonah.[/i]”
Each word stung into Jonah's mind like a dagger. Richard Morae continued.
“Versago is more forgiving than I, Jonah. If it was up to me, I'd kill you where you stand. He is willing to give you the same blessing I received, Jonah, if you lose this duel of ours. It's a win-win for you, Jonah, but I have to obey by his commands.”
He pulled up his left sleeve, and revealed a device strapped to his arm. Jonah recognized it instantly; his mother had shown him the blueprints for it many years earlier, when the duel disks were falling out of use, and Industrial Illusions had come up with something to replace them. It was made of stainless steel, perhaps six inches across, and was attached to the arm with straps. The upper side was flat, having just enough space for everything you needed to duel. It was much less clunky and more manageable than the disk, and after release it had outdone its predecessor in a matter of weeks. It was called a Duel Generator, and Jonah had an almost identical one on his arm. It was one of the earliest versions, the one given to friends and family for testing – one of only a few hundred in the world, none of which had hit the public market. Richard Morae smiled again.
“Let's get this done, son. For what it's worth.”

“Jonah! Jonah!”
Lester shouted at the top of his lungs – which admittedly wasn't very loud after what he'd been through – but no response. Shortly after the angel who wasn't an angel had appeared, that thing called Versago had done something. Tendrils of black mist had shot out from the demon's back and around him and Jonah, encircling the two of them. Lester didn't dare go any closer to it than he already was, seeing as the grass touching the foot of the mist was rapidly changing shape, but he could still shout. It had been almost half an hour, now, and the ambulance from Castor Medical Center had arrived. They had called in a coroner for Mr. Chalis, and they were there as well. Mr. Rodriguez was with them, giving them Hironima's information and his condition. For whatever reason he had, the angel had not appeared to the ambulance staff, and so Mr. Rodriguez left that part out.
“Calm down, boy. They'll think you're insane, and bring you in too.”
Lester turned around. The angel had landed behind him, moving without a sound. He shook his head.
“Talking to thin air doesn't help either. I don't know what they see Versago's clouds as, but from what I could hear, they can't see anything. To them, it's just an empty front porch with a broken window. ”
Lester turned back to the fog, and shook his head.
“I just don't know what to think, angel. I'm just a kid from the middle of nowhere, for Christ's sake! Up until last Tuesday, life was normal. I went to school, hung out with Karen and Elvira, and then went home. Day in and day out, angel, and now I don't think I can do that again.”
The angel shook his head.
“I know, little one, what it's like to have your entire world taken away from you. It happened a very long time ago, but I remember it as clear as day. You just have to stay strong, and know that eventually you'll come to peace with your new existence. Right now, you should go with your friend.“
Lester shook his head.
“I can't, angel. Not while Jonah's still in there. He doesn't deserve to die like that. I think he might die in there, angel.”
The angel put his hand on Lester's shoulder. It was warm to the touch, and somehow very soothing.
“What's your name, boy?”
Lester told him his name, and the angel nodded.
“I'm Kyaran. I have known Jonah for three years, Lester, and seen him grow beyond what I thought possible. If anyone can defeat this Versago, it's him.”

Just as the ambulance crew finished loading in Hironima, one of the nurses – a young woman with a rather pretty face - came up to Diego. He didn't recognize her from his weekly trips to the CMC to visit his sister; she must be new. She looked at Lester, who was apparently standing in the middle of a yard, staring at the victim's house, and then looked down at the clipboard in her hands.
“Mr... Rodriguez, is it?
Diego nodded. [i]Yep, she's new alright.[/i]
“It is indeed.”
She nodded at the blonde child.
“Does he have any relation to Mr. Hironima?”
Diego looked over towards him, and saw Kyaran towering over the boy. Beyond them lay only the dark mist that separated them from Jonah. Apparently, these people couldn't see it. He shook his head.
“None that I know of. I personally hadn't met Mr. Hironima until this very morning.”
The nurse frowned, and looked down at her papers.
“But he's lived here for the last three years. How can you not have met him?”
To that, Diego wasn't sure what to say. He decided that a partial lie would be enough.
“He rarely leaves the house, miss...”
He looked down at the nametag on her breast, and almost choked on his breath. Veronica [i]Wildwood.[/i]
“...miss Wildwood. I see a deliveryman coming by every three weeks or so with grocery bags, and leave without them.”
She had caught him off-guard, but he had managed to regain his composure in time. He didn't think she'd caught his momentary pause. She didn't need to know everything. She looked at him for a few seconds, reminding him of Becky, and then wrote something down on her clipboard. He certainly hadn't expected her to be here, of all places. She didn't seem to recognize him, either; something was definitely off here.
“Alright, Mr. Rodriguez. We'll contact you if anything comes up.”
She looked back at Lester with a worried look on her face.
“You think he's gonna be alright?”
With a relieved smile, Diego nodded back. Kyaran was still hovering above the child, with his hand on his shoulder.
“He's a strong kid. I'll get him back to his parents.”
The nurse smiled, then went back into the ambulance and drove off. The coroner had finished loading what remained of Simon Chalis into the van. Strangely, the anomalies of the man's face – the needle-bug nest and the cobra tongue, for instance – had reverted to normal. Save for the missing muscles and skin on his face, he looked fairly normal. As they drove off, Diego ran back to Lester. He wasn't ready to leave the child alone just yet.

Suddenly, Jonah noticed something strange in the air. He looked behind him, and saw something that truly frightened him – almost as much as the hatred of his father. The flame that had connected him to Kyaran for the last three years now traced out from his back and into the air... and them came to an abrupt end, stopping in mid-air. It was as if it was cut off by an invisible wall. Kyaran was nowhere to be seen – nor was Lester, Diego or any of the others. The lawn was empty, and the street behind it was deserted. He turned back to his opponent.
“What have you done, Versago?”
Richard Morae shook his head.
“My master isn't here anymore, son, but he left me this final gift. I didn't want you to be distracted by those friends of yours, and he made sure that you wouldn't be. Now, it's just the two of us.”
Raising his left arm, where the Duel Generator was already loaded with a deck, he smiled.
“I'll let you go first, Jonah. For old times' sake.”
Reluctantly, Jonah pulled his deck out of his pocket and loaded the generator on his arm. He was sure that he hadn't brought it with him this morning, but here it was. One thing that Jonah had noticed over the past few years was that things tended to show up out of nowhere when you had a divine spirit on your side. He drew his five cards, and after his father ([i]no, that's not my father, it can't be[/i]) had done the same, he drew a sixth. Looking over them, he decided that the best he could do right now was an offensive approach.
“I discard [i]Ivory Crown[/i] to Special Summon [i]Knight of the Divine Court[/i]!”
A gate, no taller than Jonah's six-foot-one frame and the arch seemingly made of white marble with yellow linings, appeared in between the two of them. The wooden gates swung open, and an armored man wearing similar-colored – white and yellow – full-body armor stepped out of it. At his waist, the knight carried a longsword.
[center]
[font=Courier New]
Knight of the Divine Court
1500/1200
[/font][/center]
Jonah nodded.
“Then, I activate its effect. By removing from play the Ivory Crown in my Graveyard, Knight of the Divine Court gains the benefits from it until my next Standby Phase.”
Jonah's graveyard emitted a streak of purple light, and the knight's helmet was replaced with a white outline of a crown.
[center][font=Courier New]
Knight of the Divine Court
1500→2100
1200→1800
[/font][/center]
“I Set a monster, and a face-down card. Your turn... father.”
Richard Morae nodded at his son, and drew a card.
“An impressive offense, Jonah, but it's not enough. I activate [i]Chaos Stream[/i]!”
The instant his card connected with the Duel Generator, a beam of searing white light shot out from Richard and burst directly through Jonah's monster.
[center][font=Courier New]
Knight of the Divine Court
2100 → 1500
1800 → 1200
[/font][/center]
The knight almost lost his balance, staggering back and forth across the field. Richard grinned.
“Chaos Stream negates the effects of any monster that shows its face. Now, I summon [i]Nephilim Invoker[/i]!”
Jonah looked up as something started falling from the sky. Black feathers, completely undamaged and at least ten inches long, fell in a straight pillar on his father's side of the field. As soon as a feather fell to roughly eight feet above ground, it started to spin as if caught by a whirlwind. After a few seconds, hundreds of feathers took the form of a human; a pale, almost skeletal woman with ebony hair. A pair of wings, black-feathered, sprouted from her shoulders.

[center][font=Courier New]
Nephilim Invoker
1600/1000
[/font][/center]

“Nephilim Invoker, attack Knight of the Divine Court! Death's Torrent!”
The winged woman clasped her hands, and whispered a few words that Jonah couldn't make out.
[i]Maybe I don't want to hear them,[/i] he thought. As her last words faded, her clasped hands pulsed with a purple light, emitting waves that struck Jonah's monster dead-on. The knight, already weakened by the Chaos Stream, suffered intense pain as each pulse that struck him contorted his body. Jonah could see bones breaking, ribs collapsing, and the knight coughing up a large clot of blood before it collapsed to the ground. As it shattered into thousands of pieces, like all monsters did, Jonah saw another pulse heading for himself. He only had a moment to prepare himself for the assault – a preparation which proved insufficient.

[center][font=Courier New]
Jonah Morae
LP: 3900 / 4000 (-100)
[/font][/center]

The pain exploded through his left arm, as if he had fallen from a tree and used the arm to stop the fall, like he once had at his grandmother's house in Arkansas before she passed away. [i]Actually, exactly like that.[/i] He still remembered that fairly well; he had broken his arm and been forced to stay indoors for all of summer. To nine-year-old Jonah, he might as well have been imprisoned for life. The pain had begun as a sting in his palm, for but a second, then it felt as if it had split his arm in half, top to bottom. Of course, it hadn't been that severe, but nonetheless Jonah remembered it. Though this pain was only momentarily, it was exactly like the pain he had suffered nine years earlier.
“That won't be enough to defeat me, Father.”
Richard shook his head in response, and grinned again. In his father's smile, Jonah saw something out of this world.
“Remember, Jonah. Versago made this very clear. There is no such thing as defeat for you. You...”, he clenched his teeth, seemingly in spite, ”...will receive his blessing. There is no other end. Chaos Stream's second effect activates.”
Again, the searing beam of light shot out from Richard's Duel Generator – heading directly for his opponent. Jonah, who had yet to regain his composure from the last assault, couldn't do anything to stop it from reaching him. As he cried out in sheer, unrelenting agony, his father smiled.
“Don't give up just yet, Jonah. I fed from your mental suffering in the past, son, as a spirit of death. Your physical pain is far more fulfilling.”

[spoiler=Cards]
Ivory Crown
Equip Spell Card
Increase the ATK/DEF of the equipped monster by 600. Once per turn, during either player's turn when the equipped monster or this card would be removed from the field, it is not removed.

Knight of the Divine Court
WIND
Warrior
4 / 1500 / 1200
You can discard 1 Equip Spell Card to Special Summon this card from your hand. Once per turn, you can remove from play 1 Equip Spell Card in your Graveyard until your next Standby Phase. While the card is removed from play, it is treated as being equipped to this monster.

Chaos Stream
Continuous Spell
Negate the effects of all face-up monsters on the field. Once per turn, when a monster is destroyed, inflict damage to its controller equal to its ATK.

Nephilim Invoker
DARK
Fairy
4 / 1600 / 1000
If this card is in your Graveyard, once per turn you can inflict damage to your opponent equal to the number of Spell / Trap Cards on the field x 100.
[/spoiler]
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Chapter Six: In the Face of Death]

Jonah knelt over in pain as the beam passed through him. He suddenly remembered a time when they had all been together, their last vacation together as a family. The accident that Jonah didn't think ([i]doesn't want to think[/i]) happened would be coming about seven months later. It was May, 2001. They had traveled down to the Caribbean for two weeks, a cruise from island to island. Despite the warm weather, the ship was equipped with several tanning beds, and Eric had tricked his younger brother into going into one of them. Unfortunately, it had swung shut, and he had been in there for two hours before they'd managed to get him out. Jonah had been on the verge of death, and Eric wouldn't have heard the end of it for years if what had happened that year hadn't happened. September 11th. December 15th. Jonah had had that burn for almost a month.

[center][font=Courier New]
Jonah Morae
LP: 2400/4000 (-1500)
[/font][/center]

Richard Morae nodded.
“When a monster is destroyed by battle, Chaos Stream inflicts damage equal to the destroyed monster's attack points. I place one card face-down, and end my turn.”
Jonah looked up, but tried not to look directly at his father. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that wolfish grin again. He couldn't remember seeing that grin anytime before, and it didn't really seem to fit on his father's face. Jonah forced himself to look directly at him. The bones of his father's face were contorted, pulled back to make room for all of those teeth. In the small gaps between them, Jonah thought he saw something else – but it flickered away. He shook his head.
“My turn. During my Standby Phase, Ivory Crown returns to my Graveyard.”
He drew a card, and looked at his hand. He had a few options, as his father's field wasn't much of a threat right now, save for Chaos Stream. An offensive approach didn't work last time; maybe it's time to play strategically. He selected the card he just drew, and played it.
“I activate Reinforcements of the Army, allowing me to add [i]Royal Guard of the Divine Court[/i] in my deck to my hand.” He picked out the card in question from his deck, and added it to his hand. It certainly had a stronger defense than Nephilim Invoker could break through, but he couldn't leave anything up to chance.
It was either now, or never.

Lester had been wrong earlier that morning; Karen and Elvira weren't sleeping in. At least, not in the normal sense. At 3 AM that morning, Karen had woken up and started shivering. After a few minutes, she was coughing loud enough to wake up the rest of the house, repeated coughing fits that would go on for minutes on end. Her parents took her temperature and found out she had a fever. By 3:30, she was turning pale, and her parents weren't sure what to do. Sure, it looked like the flu, but she'd been fine the night before and it wasn't running in town. Not to mention that even at night it was still fifty degrees outside. Without further due, the Jackson parents packed their twins – both the sick Karen and the healthy (but just as confused as her parents) Elvira – into the family car, and drove to the town's only hospital - Castor Medical Center. It was only half an hour away, after all.

The Medical Center hadn't been busy this Saturday morning. Mostly just the regulars who came for their weekly check-ups and subscriptions. Karen had been taken into intensive care almost immediately, and was now under heavy anesthetics and attached to an IV. The doctors said that her condition was unstable but not critical. They had now been there for six hours, give or take, her parents taking turns sitting at her bedside and walking back and forth in the hallway outside. Elvira, the slightly younger of the twins, was worried. Even though she had barely gotten four hours of sleep, she wasn't even slightly tired. It'll probably come back at me when all of this is over. She had been sitting by one of the three windows, looking from her sister to the rising sun outside and back. Somewhere around 9:45, long after sunrise, the door opened. Elvira and her mother quickly looked up, hoping for news about the still unconscious Karen, but it wasn't even their doctor.

Jonah cleared his throat.
“I Flip Summon my face-down Guru of the Divine Court.”
A bald, thin man wearing a white robe with yellow linings sprung from his face-down card and landed on the field. He closed his eyes, and raised one of his hands up into the skies. A blue shroud of light surrounded him, and formed a wall around Jonah's side of the field.
[center][font=Courier New]
Guru of the Divine Court
600/500
[/font][/center]

“When Guru is flipped up, I'm unaffected by all of your cards' effects for the rest of my turn, as long as I have an Equip Spell in my Graveyard.”
He picked up another card from his hand, and sent it to the Graveyard.
“I discard an Equip Spell to Special Summon the Royal Guard I added earlier.”
Another gate appeared next to the old man, and another warrior in similar white and yellow walked out through it. The dominant feature was different, though; As the former knight had carried a sword, this guard only carried a large shield. Jonah continued.
“Royal Guard's attack and defense points increase by two-hundred for each Equip Spell in my Graveyard.”
[center][font=Courier New]
Royal Guard of the Divine Court
200 → 600
1900 → 2300
[/font][/center]
“I'm not finished yet, Father.”
Jonah could tell that Richard Morae was annoyed. It was something he had rarely seen his father as, and quite frankly the look on his father's face scared him. It reminded him of something out of a long-lost nightmare, a memory that was just out of reach. There were frown lines where Jonah didn't think lines possibly could be: one even went across his eyebrow. [i]What did he do to you, dad? What is this “blessing” you talk about? Did it make you forget I never called you Father?[/i] He shook his head. [i]You were always Dad, or Daddy, to me. You don't remember that, do you? He tapped both of the monsters on his field. If you don't remember that, Dad, then there's a lot that's been forgotten. I'll bring all of it back. I promise.[/i]
“[i]The greatest of all wisdom is locked inside. Follow the road that wisdom shows you, to a path paved with victory[/i]! Fusion Summon!”
Jonah's two monsters started to glow, emitting stronger and stronger light until they were no more than two shining beacons of white and yellow. For an instant, Jonah thought he saw the light cast on his Dad's face actually break through the flesh, revealing something darker beneath, but he must have been mistaken. The two beacons of light started to move closer and closer to each other, until they eventually merged.

[center][font=Courier New][color=Purple]
War General of the Divine Court
2200 / 2000
[/color][/font][/center]

The warrior that emerged from the united beacons, as the light faded away, was wielding the same white-plate armor with yellow trims that seemed to be characteristic of the Divine Court monsters, but his facial features were more similar to that of the Guru's. He was bald, and had a set of dark purple eyes that seemed wise beyond their years. In his right hand, he carried a large ax. Jonah nodded.
“War General starts out with twelve-hundred attack points, but gains an additional five-hundred for each Equip Spell in my Graveyard. Now I activate War General's effect. I discard an Equip Spell.”
The Nephilim Invoker started to glow with a dark purple aura. Richard Morae frowned.

[center][font=Courier New][color=purple]
War General of the Divine Court
2200 ATK → 2700 ATK
[/color][/font][/center]
Jonah continued.
“If your Invoker is destroyed this turn, Father, I can equip an Equip Spell in my Deck to a Divine Court monster I control. That's just what's about to happen! War General, attack Nephilim Invoker!”

The Intensive Care Unit sported two rooms for maintaining those who needed immediate attention, each of them capable of holding three beds. More often than not, only one of these rooms were in use, and so the second room had fallen out of operation. The equipment there was dated, the beds unstable, and the floor covered in a thin but very present layer of dust. Maintaining that room wasn't exactly top priority, given how rarely accidents happen in a small town like Adoración. Most of what they got these days was fractured bones from the kids driving around in the field north of town, and that had never required more than the one room in the thirty-or-so years since that had started happening. For that reason, nurse Veronica Wildwood, niece to the late Rebecca “Becky” Wildwood, opened the door to Intensive Care Room #1.

She and young miss Jackson's doctor, the only two doctors who were at the medical center at the time, wheeled in the stretcher to the far end of the room, shortly followed by the young girl's father. Their second ICU patient of the day, a Japanese man from town, had been picked up off his own lawn with severe internal bleeding. The moment they'd started driving, a bruise started to spread across the man's lower abdomen, and he had coughed up a large clot of blood. Now, he was slipping in and out of consciousness every thirty seconds or so. Now and then, Veronica thought she saw something moving under the man's skin, but then it would be gone before she had a chance to examine it. Perhaps it was nothing severe, but you never knew with this case. [i]Heck, you never knew with this day, for crying out loud.[/i] First this Jackson girl who'd gotten a flu out of nowhere this morning, and now, their second patient of the day; an internal bleeding of the stomach without an entry wound. It was far beyond the daily routine at CMC, but they had to make due with what they had. She and Dr. Steller wheeled over their second patient to the other end of the room, to maintain some sense of privacy for the Jackson family. Even if their new visitor happened to be unconscious at the moment.

Veronica waited in the doorway while Dr. Steller examined the Jackson girl. She had been told that the two sisters were identical twins, she had had to be told. Karen and..., she looked at her files,... Elvira did not look very alike, even for sisters. Elvira had straight, intense black hair that were strikingly similar to her mother's curls of the same color. Karen, their patient, on the other hand, had the same blonde, straight hair that her father might have had at some point, before he cut it. The only thing they had in common was something neither of their parents had; stark blue eyes, giving Karen a slightly Aryan look while making Elvira a Galway girl. Recessive genes were funny that way. Sometimes, things skip a generation, only to have the next strike it down on them. She watched Dr. Steller look at the equipment, make sure the IV was still flowing steadily (they'd replaced it rather recently, but you never knew) and turn to the girl's parents.
”As far as we can tell, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, Karen seems to be stable. She should be coming back within the hour.”
The mother practically jumped at Dr. Steller in joy, enveloping him in a hug and saying ”Thank you” over and over again. The father shook his hand repeatedly, saying the same thing. Veronica could see tears welling up in their eyes. On these days, it was good to be a doctor. As she was overshadowed by the parents' reactions, Veronica couldn't see that Elvira Jackson, sitting by her sister's bedside, was murmuring. Her eyes were fixed on the Japanese man across the room.

As Jonah's monster rushed at the Nephilim Invoker, Richard Morae smiled.
“Face-down card, activate. [i]Strength of the War God.[/i] For one battle only, my Nephilim Invoker gains attack power equal to the power of your War General. ”
The purple light changed hue to a light green. The skeletal woman grinned in a way that reminded Jonah of a wolf as she was infused with power.

[center][font=Courier New]
Nephilim Invoker
1600 ATK → 4300 ATK
[/font][/center]
Jonah gasped. Not only was Nephilim Invoker strong enough to take down his monster, but with Chaos Stream still in play, the duel would be over. Jonah looked at the card he had set during his first turn. It would be enough to stop his immediately defeat, but it would still put him at a great risk. He sighed. It was the only option he had.
“I activate my face-down card, Declaration of God! At the cost of half of my life points, I can negate the activation of a card and destroy it! Of course, I choose Strength of the War God!” The green light was once again replaced with the purple glow, and Nephilim Invoker's attack points returned to the original value. Jonah's War General raised his ax above his head and came down hard on the pale woman, who shattered almost instantly. Shortly after that, Jonah's Duel Generator emitted a beam of searing white light that struck his father in the chest.

[center][font=Courier New]
Richard Morae
LP: 1300/4000 (-2700)

Jonah Morae
LP: 1200/4000 (-1200)
[/font][/center]
Jonah nodded. The duel had turned in his favor, with his War General currently being the stronger monster on the field, but it's still a narrow race. His ([i]dad[/i]) opponent could still have tricks up his sleeve, and Jonah was technically still behind what it came to Life Points. As the searing light faded, Jonah found himself looking into the eyes of a monster.

It is commonly believed that, when facing death, something awakens deep in mankind. Seeing their child trapped under a car gives a mother indomitable strength. Seeing a dead friend, assassinated by a dangerous enemy, can give a man the determination to rise against a terrible threat. An old man, lying on his death bed, can suddenly see beyond the restraints of the mortal realm – the so-called light at the end of the tunnel. For Hironima Yasuo, who had given the name Takake to the Leander brothers at Crystalfound when they first met him, it displayed in a far more... measurable way.

Ever since his birth in 1967, Yasuo had had a special power. It had manifested as part of his otherworldly heritage; as a descendant of the Tormentor's heirs who had crash-landed somewhere in the Middle-East and spread across the world. Some, like the ancestors of Crystalfound Corporation's founder Damon Leander and Jonah's father Richard Norgrass, had moved to Europe. Others had moved to Africa, or the Russian plains. Some even traversed the Bering straight and moved into the American continents with whose who later would be – incorrectly – called American Indians. Yasuo's ascendants had traveled across Southeast Asia, and eventually found their way to Japan. Today, Yasuo estimated there were roughly two-hundred and fifty descendants of his family line around Japan, give or take about thirty. Out of all of those, he was the only one with the old blood still strong enough in him to elevate him.

He had grown up thinking that it was a blessing. Growing up in a generation without the conveniences of the modern day, if he wanted to talk to someone on the other end of the classroom, he would have to pass them a note that would go through the hands of dozens – and presumably under their eyes as well. If he was a normal child, that was. He had discovered at an early age that he could make the sound of his voice travel over great distances without it ever becoming louder than a whisper. He had been too young to be afraid of using it, too young to understand what might happen to him if it became known to the public that he was different. He'd spoken bad words, words he heard on the TV when his oniisan watched his movies, and put them in the mouths of others. He had whispered across the classroom, making people turn in confusion. He had shouted into the ears of birds, making them lose their control and dive to the ground. It didn't take long for him to realize that he was special; it took just a little longer for others to realize that. Powerful others.

On one day, shortly after young Yasuo's eighth birthday, there was someone at home waiting for him. A man in a black suit and a white tie. To Yasuo, that white tie reminded him of a noose. There were three more men waiting outside the house when the man in the white tie explained his business to Yasuo's parents. Their son was gifted by the gods themselves, and going to a public school and living with his family would only interfere with that gift. It would cripple their son's potential to do something great for Japan. They would take him to an imperial training facility outside Tokyo, where he would live with others who also were gifted. His parents, glad to learn that their son was better than everybody else's – [i]even recognized by the emperor[/i]! - accepted the offer happily. They already had one son.

Yasuo spent the next twelve years of his life in that facility, up until the day after his twentieth birthday. He had lost all contact with his family in a matter of weeks after coming there, and within a month he had lost all memory of them. He spent sixteen hours a day “harnessing his strength”, practicing his ability over and over again, further expanding the distance he could travel and how precise he could constrain the sound. He learned to understand sound far more fundamentally than anyone before him. He could perceive the sound waves moving through the air, and he could control their movements. His power evolved beyond what it once had been. He could directly manipulate the words of others. He could create a wall, and then a room, and then a field of utter silence. Due to his control over sound waves, which is literally vibration in the air, he could cause tremors of the earth. During the last eight hours of the day, he slept, heavily sedated.

Despite what the man in the white tie had said, Yasuo never saw anyone else with an ability. The only people he met was a doctor, who would monitor his progress, the man who brought his food twice per day, and Harold Leander, perhaps once or twice during those twelve years. Back then, he hadn't known that the American man with the bright hair and the wide eyes was one of [i]them[/i], or that he would become one of the few people that he looked up to. By the first time he met Harold, Yasuo had adopted his new name. Through the only window of his room, Yasuo could hear water falling from somewhere. Three drops always came in rapid succession, and always at the same interval. Yasuo, with his ability, perceived it as three syllables; Ta-ka-ke. Over the months, the years, that he heard those syllables, he grew attached to them. They were his name. Nature was speaking to him, and he could finally hear it.

After his twelfth year at the facility, Harold Leander had hired Yasuo for his new project. It was now 1987, and the game of Duel Monsters had been prominent on the markets for five years. Harold Leander showed Takake how the game worked, and how it could be expanded upon to form something different. They both saw the potential in the game, which reflected in the rest of the world approaching the end – or perhaps the culmination – of the Cold War. They needed something to keep their minds off nuclear warfare. Duel Monsters filled that spot, and Harold Leander saw an opportunity. It was a market, a market that needed contenders.

At this time, Takake learned that Harold, too, had an ability; an ability far beyond his comprehension. If the word associated with Takake's ability was “the Voice”, then Harold's word was “The Mind”. Harold was, essentially, the memory bank of the human race. He could retell everything that had happened to their kind ever since the dawn of civilization, and perhaps even beyond that. Harold Leander was the reason that his brother Damon started researching their ancestry, their divine ancestry; he told him everything. Where they had landed, how they had landed... but he didn't know how they had spread. He couldn't tell from a single glance at a memory if that person had been one of them or not. The two brothers had founded the Crystalfound Corporation in 1981, and in 1991, thanks to Harold's attempts to seize the market from Industrial Illusions, it had become part of that very company.

Over the years, Damon would find more and more of them. In 1995, they found Richard Norgrass and Mia Morae, living together and having two sons; six-year old Eric and three-year old Jonah. Richard agreed to join their team, and in the fall of 2006 they found the last, but crucial piece to the puzzle; sixty-seven year old Jack Underton, who lived in a cave in the middle of nowhere. The rest, was, as they say, history.

Takake had stayed with Crystalfound for some time after the battle at the Wickspire, and was then relocated by his superiors to the West coast. The executive president of Industrial Illusions America, Edward Ketitrod, had mysteriously disappeared at the same time, and the company was in turmoil. With Crystalfound collapsing around them, and Harold being somewhere, Takake feared that their research was lost. When the relocation came around, so did Takake's name. He didn't fear deportation; his legal documents showed him as a perfectly legal resident of the United States. Hironima Yasuo, that was. As far as they were concerned, Hironima Takake did not exist. He assumed work for the western branch in April of 2008, and had been given clearance to work on his own project in February of 2010.

[i]And look where that got me.[/i] He knew he was dying, that was for sure. His spirit had already left his body; its ties to his earthly shell were weak, and could snap at any moment. He was beyond saving... but those left at his house were not. Diego, who had lost his son in the struggle leading up to the battle at the Wickspire. The boy Lester. And, of course, Jonah. Mirroring Simon Chalis' thoughts from earlier, Yasuo wondered exactly how Jonah had found him. The boy reminded him of Damon, in a sense. He drew the Tormentor's kin to him like flies to a lantern. [i]I need to get what I know to them... but how?[/i]

That was when one of the ties that connected him to his body snapped, and what he had thought was the limit of his ability became nothing but the first step. The Voice no longer became an object of sound, of vibration; it became a sensation, an ideal, an opinion, an understanding – and he could submit it. Send it. He chose the only one in the room that wasn't overcome by emotion, emotion that he now could hear rather than see; the black-haired girl sitting by her sister's bed.

[i]Elvira Jackson, I need your help.[/i] At first, Elvira thought she was hearing her sister's thoughts. The two of them had the strange bond found in many twins; perhaps a little stronger. They had shared thoughts in stressful situations before; most notably during tests at school. Elvira was expecting them at this point.
[i]I am not your sister. I need your help.[/i] Now, she was confused. Who could be sending thoughts into her head? Did she have another sibling she didn't know about, a brother? Was there someone else in the-
Her eyes fell on the Japanese man they had just wheeled in, currently unconscious.
“Is that you?”
She spoke silently, almost a whisper, not to draw attention. The spirit confirmed her call.
[i]Yes. My name is Yasuo. There are things I need people to know.[/i]
Yasuo spoke for fifteen minutes, and with every word, something stirred in Elvira Jackson's mind. The same thing happened to the unconscious Karen, lying on her bed with her blue eyes moving rapidly from side to side under closed eyelids. Something moved in their minds. A great force that was now about to be awoken.

[spoiler=Cards]

Royal Guard of the Divine Court
WIND
Warrior
4 / 200 / 1900
You can discard 1 Equip Spell to Special Summon this card from your hand. This card gains 300 ATK / DEF for each Equip Spell Card in your Graveyard.

Guru of the Divine Court
WIND
Warrior / Tuner
1 / 600 / 500
FLIP: Until the End Phase, cards you control are unaffected by your opponent's card effects.

War General of the Divine Court
WIND
Warrior / Fusion
6 / ? / 2000
“Guru of the Divine Court” + 1 “Divine Court” monster.
You can Special Summon this card from your Extra Deck by returning the above monsters you control to your hand. (This Special Summon is treated as a Fusion Summon.) The returned monsters cannot be Summoned while you control this face-up card. This card's ATK is always equal to 1200 + 500 for each Equip Spell Card in your Graveyard. Once per turn, you can discard 1 Equip Spell Card to select 1 monster your opponent controls. If that monster is destroyed by battle this turn, you can select 1 Equip Spell Card in your Deck and equip it to a “Divine Court” monster you control.

Strength of the War God
Quick-Play Spell
Activate only when a “Nephilim” monster you control battles. The “Nephilim” monster gains ATK equal to the ATK of the other monster during damage calculation only.
[/spoiler]
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Chapter 7: The Truth]

”I need to leave.”
”What?”
The dark-haired Jackson twin rose out of her seat, eyes closed. Her face was calm, resolute. Without responding to her parents, she turned to the door and started walking. Her father called out again.
”Elvira, where are you going?”
She stopped in the doorway, and turned her head, eyes still closed.
”I need to save someone's life, Father. Perhaps more than one someone. Perhaps all of us.”
Her father shied back. There was something in his daughter's voice that he hadn't heard before – but yet, it sounded familiar to him. Perhaps it's always been there. Mrs. Jackson looked from her healthy daughter to her sick one, and back. She shook her head.
”Couldn't you wait until Karry wakes up, Elli? It can't be that urgent, you haven't talked to anyone since last night. I'm sure that whoever needs to be saved can wait for a-”
Elvira sighed.
”I didn't want to do this, Frederica, but I guess you need to know that things have changed.”
Her mother froze. Her daughter rarely used her first name when she was talking to her, and when she did, she didn't pronounce it like that. Frederica had come to Adoración with her mother from Italy some twenty-odd years earlier, and she'd met Odysseus Jackson a few years later. In the sixteen years that had gone by since the twins were born, they had never inherited their mother's accent.
”What are you?”
In response, Elvira opened her eyes. Frederica understood what was going on. She didn't want to, but she did. She nodded.
”Is it just Elvira?”
The girl shook her head. Frederica looked down.
”I didn't expect you to have twins, Frederica. As far as I know, this is unprecedented. One of us being bound to two of you.”

During their brief discussion, Odysseus Jackson had been listening, and gradually grown more confused. Clearly, there was something his wife had kept from him, since long before the girls were born. Something that the girls had now inherited. Though until now it had only appeared as an expanded vocabulary and those otherworldly eyes, he feared it could lead to something worse. ([i]”unprecedented”? When was the last time either of them had used that word?[/i]) and those otherworldly eyes, he feared that there was something else.
”Frederica, darling? What's going on?”
She looked at him, then to her dark-haired daughter, and back.
”I'm sorry, honey, but I can't explain just yet. We don't have the time.”
She nodded at Elvira.
”Go, if you need to. Just keep her out of trouble.”
The girl nodded back with a smile.
”I want her safe just as much as you do, Frederica. She and Karen are the reasons I'm still alive here today. I won't let either of them get hurt.”
And with that, she turned Elvira Jackson's body around and ran down the hallway on Elvira Jackson's legs.

In Adoración itself – the hospital was some distance away from the rest of town – Jonah Morae struggled to hold back the little breakfast he had had. His father's monster had taken the blunt of the War General's attack, but his spell had caused him the same amount of pain. He had stumbled to one knee, panting, and his facial features had changed. His jawline was now jutting, the bones close to breaking through his skin, and his forehead had extended just a bit, casting a shadow over his eyes, which had been shut to slits. The wolfish grin was now plain demonic, his lips showing rows of teeth going as far back as his neck. It almost looked like as if his lower jaw was going to fall off.
And it should, Jonah thought. The bones aren't even connected. His jaw should be hanging wide open. Yet, it was not. It was locked in a fiendish grin. When he spoke, Jonah could see nothing but darkness behind his father's teeth. No mouth, no throat, just darkness.
“Are you [b]SURPRISED to[/b] SEE [b]ME, SO[/b]N? I GOT [b]off wo[/b]rk EARLY today, let[b]'s GO FOR A [/b]DRIVE, SON!”
Jonah couldn't say a word. His father's words sounded familiar, but he couldn't place them – save for the first sentence, which he had used mere minutes earlier. No, they came from somewhere else, from a time when life was simpler. He shook his head.
“Is this what you call a blessing, Father? Is this the home Versago has given you?”
Richard Morae cringed, and looked into his son's eyes. Somehow, his jawline seemed to readjust as he spoke.
“Don't say that about your teacher, son. Mr. Wilson is a good man. He's looks a little different, sure, but he's just trying to teach you.”
Jonah couldn't help but to raise an eyebrow. Mr. Wilson had been his English teacher in second grade; a tall, broad-shouldered but slightly overweight man with a black, burly beard. Jonah had been afraid of him for several years after that... and he'd told his father. Richard had, in response, used the exact same words to reassure him back then. As his father's forehead retracted to where it had been before, Jonah nodded.
“I don't know what's happening, Father, but I will find out. War General's effect allows me to activate an Equip Spell from my Deck, as long as I equip it to a Divine Court monster. I choose Black Pendant, increasing my War General's strength.”
[center][font=Courier New][color=purple]
War General of the Divine Court
2700 ATK → 3200 ATK
2000 DEF → 2500 DEF
[/color][/font][/center]

He sighed. He would have to rely on his monster's strength for now.
“I end my turn.”
Richard Morae, now having returned more or less to his previous appearance, smiled. It was far from the usual wolfish grin, and definitely far less frightening than the demonic smile he had shown moments before. This was a sane smile. Somehow, that frightened Jonah even more.
“My turn. I draw.”
He added another card to his hand. Another smile.
“All of the pieces have moved into place, Jonah. The time for you to accept my master's blessing has come.”

Outside the barrier, Diego and Kyaran were now alone. The elderly Latino had called Lester's parents from his house shortly after the ambulance crew left, and they'd come to pick him up. Checking his watch, Diego noticed that the time was now ten-thirty. Jonah had been in there for almost an hour, suffering through God-knows-what. He looked at the winged spirit beside him, who was fully concentrated at the strand of flame that emanated from his back and was connected to Jonah. It was supposed to be, at least. Now it simply floated into the air, and stopped a few feet above them when it connected to the shadowy barrier. To Diego's surprise, Kyaran started to speak.
“Have you ever lost someone you loved, human?”
Diego was baffled at the question. Kyaran was, after all, something of a higher order than himself. He had said he wasn't an angel, but Diego couldn't stop himself from thinking of him as one. He nodded.
“My wife... she passed away. Two years and seven months ago. Stroke. Shortly before that, my son went missing.”
He nodded at the building behind the barrier, barely visible.
“He used to work with Hironima, you know.”
Kyaran turned his head slightly, but kept his eyes focused on the spot where the flame touched the barrier.
“The man Jonah was looking for?”
Diego nodded.
“They worked at a place called Crystalfound, somewhere up on the east coast. He never told me exactly what they did there, but whenever he'd come by and stay overnight – mostly on the holidays – he'd wake up in the middle of the night with terrible nightmares. He was a grown man by then, Kyaran. Something they did in there frightened him to no end.”
Kyaran nodded.
“Jonah told me about Crystalfound. The people who worked there had abilities, beyond what your kind usually has, as a result of their heritage.”
Diego looked confounded.
“Heritage?”
Without looking directly at him, Kyaran sighed at Diego.
“He doesn't know anything...”, he muttered under his breath. Then, he sighed again. “You see, my father Obelisk, was a god.”
Diego gasped, and was about to speak, but Kyaran silenced him.
“Let me finish. There was another god, the Dreadroot, that alongside my father created the Multiverse as we know it today. However, the Dreadroot grew vile and wicked over the millennias, and waged war against my father's palace. We lost battle after battle in that war, and eventually the final stand took place at our palace. At first, I thought the battle at the Tormentor's palace would last forever, but it would come to a swift end. One of our lieutenants, a Nathaniel Goreflesh, changed sides and opened the palace gates under the cover of night. We were forced to evacuate while Father and a group of soldiers fended off the army. We traveled for a very long time, human, until we crashed down on your planet. A lot of us died in the landing, and the few of us that survived eventually started to intermingle with your species. My older brother Aigora tried to organize us, take command, but eventually we all parted ways. Those of our heirs who were closest related to my father – my brothers' sons, my sister's children, and mine – gained special abilities that would be passed down from generation to generation. I suppose that we are responsible for your miniscule elevation above the other species, human.”
Diego sat down. For a man who had been a devout Christian for the last sixty years or so, this was a bit much to take in.
“So, Kyaran, you say that all this time, I was wrong? We all were wrong?”
Kyaran shrugged.
“Maybe. Depends on how you see it. It may not be exactly what you thought, human, but you seem to have grasped the core ideals on your own. I might have found that impressive if I wasn't immediately concerned by something more pressing.”
He nodded toward the barrier.
“Jonah is a special case, you see. Unlike most of the heirs in modern day, both of Jonah's parents were very close to my father's bloodline. On his mother's side, he was even directly in line to inherit my father's powers. His father's side wasn't much further away, giving them a mixture of powers that wouldn't manifest properly until much later in life. Jonah's older brother, Eric, managed to unlock this level of manifestation for a short moment of time.”
Diego was lost in thought for a second.
“What did he do with that power, Kyaran? He didn't teach Jonah, did he?”
Kyaran shook his head.
“No, human, he did not. When he obtained that power, Eric Morae went renegade. He successfully slayed the Dreadroot and his generals, destroyed my brother's spirit and almost ended existence. He had come into possession of one of the greatest weapons in the universe; a single shot was said to be able to shatter entire worlds. Jonah... killed him before that happened.”
Kyaran hadn't been sure whether or not to tell him that. Very few people knew what happened at the Wickspire, and even fewer knew exactly what Jonah had gone through. However, he had a good feeling about this one. He was trustworthy. He knew what it was like to lose someone dear to him. Diego did not reply. The two of them stood in silence, watching the barrier for another forty-three minutes.

Richard Morae placed two cards on his Duel Generator.
“I set two cards face-down. Then, I activate the card I just drew! [i]Nephilim Descendence![/i] The Nephilim Invoker in my Graveyard is joined by two more of her friends!”
Before Jonah's eyes, two skeletal women, identical to the monster he had destroyed during his last turn, were pulled out from his father's Generator as if by an invisible hand. To him, it seemed like their faces were contorted in pain for the few seconds that passed before they were dragged into their controller's graveyard. Jonah looked at his opponent, confounded.
“Do you have a plan, Father, or is this your way of giving in? Your way of realizing that I was right from the beginning, and that your hatred was crafted by Versago's wicked scheme?”
Richard shook his head, and one side of his face went up into the malicious, wolfish grin.
“Far from it, Son. Versago gave me the power to get back at you, to finally fulfill my desire of killing you, after all these years. Yet, though I could, the master does not want me to kill you. For reasons I cannot understand nor agree with, he wants you to have my blessing as well. Eric may not have hated you, Jonah, but I do, with every shred of my existence. You should thank the master when my turn is over, Jonah. He holds you far higher than you deserve. Had it been up to me, you would have been long dead by now. ”
Hearing those words from his father's lips would have broken Jonah down. They would have sent him falling down a spiral of depression and resignation. They would have made him decide that the mission he had undertaken, to find out what happened to his father, had not only been a failure but a mistake. He would have thrown himself at his father's feet and beg for forgiveness.

If he had believed it was his father, that is.

At first, he had been shocked by seeing Versago's form changed into that of his father's. He sounded just like he remembered from nine years ago, wore the same clothes and even looked the same. He'd said things that only he and Jonah would know, reminded him of things that had happened that no one else had ever heard of. That was the kicker. He had spoken of something that Jonah hadn't told a soul, something that had stricken Jonah far too savagely for him to ever want to forget. He had recited Eric's last words. [i]I don't hate you, Jonah.[/i] Even if his story had connected until then, his spirit was supposedly adrift when that happened. He was drawn to the Wickspire only after it had been destroyed. There was no way he could have known. In that moment, it had all connected. It all made sense.

“Your disguise can't help you any more, Versago. I've seen through your lies.”
Richard Morae didn't react at first. Then, he nodded.
“[i]I'm not surprised you figured it out, Jonah Morae. Your memories of your father were both aged and fragmented; I did not have much to work with. I couldn't create as solid a shape as I wished. Nonetheless, they fulfilled their purpose. Everything is arranged for your defeat, Jonah Morae.”[/i]
Jonah looked at the field. Save for the two cards his opponent had set this turn, and the three monsters in his Graveyard, Versago only controlled Chaos Stream. His hand was empty, and his life points were as low as 1300. Sure, Jonah's were lower at this point, but there was only a hundred points of a difference and Jonah controlled his thirty-two hundred attack point War General. To him, victory seemed obvious. [i]Unless...[/i]
Before he could finish that thought, Versago spoke. As Jonah looked up, he saw that his opponent had returned to his original form. The nine-foot shadowy figure that continuously changed shape was now wearing a different Duel Generator; it was completely black, save for three red lines running from top to bottom. His form no longer frightened Jonah. If anything, it brought him some peace.
“[i]Do you not wonder why I sent my Invokers to the graveyard, Jonah Morae? Do you think, Versago Shaiya'za, would do something so foolish without a plan?[/i]”
Jonah nodded.
“I found it possible, Versago, but not likely.”
Seemingly not noticing the insult, Versago continued.
“[i]You see, the Nephilim were designed to reflect my own existence. In life, I was nothing. I succumbed to the chaos that presides over life and was forced to suppress my own will. In death, on the other hand, I became more than I ever had been before. I recognized death itself as my enemy, rather than my fate, and was reborn into this body. I chose an ever-changing form, for I do not wish to be tied down by my physical entity. The real power lies beyond death, Jonah, when you forsake your restraints and exist through your own power. I, Versago, gained my power after death. The Chaos Stream represents the violent, oppressive chaos that will forever regulate the living, force them to die to become free. Therefore, it only negates the effects of a monster that lives. My Nephilim Invokers are now dead, and have transcended the chaos. They can now activate their effects as they wish. I choose to do so immediately![/i]”
The three skeletal women appeared on Versago's side of the field, facing Jonah. They had lost the solidity of their shape; the three of them were transparent, but surrounded by a feint, white light. Versago smiled his crescent-moon smile that now reminded Jonah of the demonic grin he had seen on his father's face.
“Once per turn, each Nephilim Invoker in my Graveyard can inflict one-hundred damage to you for each Spell or Trap Card on the field. I count a total of four cards, and three Invokers.”
Jonah looked over the field again, doing the math in his head. There was the Chaos Stream, his father's two set cards, and... the Black Pendant he had activated during his last turn. Four-hundred damage from each Invoker. Twelve-hundred. It was an assault that definitely would destroy him. Yet, he had nothing to prevent it. Desperation dawned on Jonah's face. The crescent-moon smile widened.
“[i]Finish him, my Invokers! Let Jonah Morae suffer the power of those who transcend both life and death![/i]”
The skeletal women lowered their heads, and clasped their hands. As if their voices were amplified, Jonah could now hear their words. [i]The War God was imprisoned in the shadow of the tower. Shaiya'za reminds us, Mer'gaona inspires, and Tergaine foretells our victory. Death presides over all, and we preside over death.[/i] At the last word, their clasped hands emitted three pulses of purple light, heading straight for Jonah. The first one struck him in the chest, and made his heart skip not one but several beats. It reminded him of the heartache he had felt when the Crystalfound officials had told him his father was dead. [i]It was a car accident, Jonah, they'd said. Bullshit.[/i]
[font=Courier New][center]
Jonah Morae
LP: 1200 → 800
[/center][/font]
The second one struck him in the head, and almost made him lose his balance. It reminded him of when they'd returned home after the battle at the Wickspire, and found Jack Underton lying dead in his kitchen. Then, they had found out that Mia Morae had never returned from the Wickspire. United with her oldest son in death. They had buried them later that month. He had prayed for both of their souls that day. [i]Plane crash, Jonah had told Lester. Bullshit.[/i]
[font=Courier New][center]
Jonah Morae
LP: 800 → 400
[/center][/font]
The third one struck him in his right arm, and made him drop the few cards he had left in his hand. On his left arm, his Duel Generator shut down, as it always did when a duel was over. Jonah wanted to do the same now. Shut down. It reminded him of the battle at the Wickspire, when he had been forced to fight the brother he had grown up with. The brother who he had played when his parents were away. The brother he had talked to when they weren't. Talked about life with. After Richard's death, Eric became the person Jonah could talk to. The person that Jonah had, one day, wanted as the best man at his wedding. No matter the hard feelings between them. He was his brother, after all. Then he'd turned insane. Almost killed him. Killed them all. [i]I don't hate you, Jonah, he'd said. All a load of steaming bullshit.[/i]

[font=Courier New][center]
Jonah Morae
LP: 400 → [color="Red"]0[/color]
[/center][/font]
[spoiler=Cards]
Nephilim Descendence
Spell Card
Select 1 “Nephilim” monster in your Graveyard. Send as many monsters with the same name as the selected monster from your hand, Deck or side of the field to the Graveyard as possible.
[/spoiler]
[/spoiler]
[spoiler=Chapter 8: Separation]

Something started happening to the barrier. Before the watchful eyes of Diego and Kyaran, the black shroud quickly expanded and shrunk, as if it had been a body of boiling water that twisted and turned before their eyes. The human found it eerily hypnotic, but the spirit had grown wary. While he hadn't seen Versago's abilities before, he had learned one thing from his transformation after the battle at the Wickspire. A change of appearance is usually caused by a change of power. It stayed true for physics – a field of study that Kyaran found himself far better at the practical parts than at the theory – as well as superhuman individuals. The barrier was being manipulated by something far stronger than Kyaran, who hadn't been able to even affect the black shroud in the slightest. Almost three hours of continuous assault with the flame that connected him to Jonah, the strongest force he could muster, and not even a bulge. With the two of them intently staring at the barrier, and worrying about what was going on inside, they didn't hear the car parking around the corner.

The car in question was driven by a man known to friends and family as Matthew Freeborn. Matthew's daughter, Melanie, had been friends with Karen and Elvira since the latter were in third grade. Melanie herself was two years younger than the now sixteen-year-old twins, but due to the size of the school they had most of their classes together. Thirty minutes earlier, Melanie had collapsed at the kitchen table, running a high fever. Matthew and his partner for twenty years, Vince, had taken Melanie to the hospital, and Vince was with her now.

Odysseus considered it dumb luck that Matthew had been able to drive Elvira to where she needed to go, but Frederica knew better than that. She knew the spirit that had been attached to her since birth, and had now moved on to her daughters. Though she was on their side, she sometimes did... radical things like that to move the pieces in her favor. She knew that there was no way either she or Odysseus would leave Karen's side when she was this sick, so she sent someone to them that would. Melanie's fever had dropped, and she was already feeling better. Matthew and Vince were practically family, and the Jacksons could easily trust one of them to drive Elvira into town.

As per Elvira's request, Matthew had parked around the corner from Hironima's house. Incidentally, they were not far away from the place where Lester and Jonah had hidden four hours earlier, from the gaze of Simon Chalis. He'd stopped, and looked at her.
“Is this where you need to go, Vira?”
The black-haired girl smiled. Her parents called her Elli, and her friends at the school called her El, if anything. Matthew and Vince were the only ones that could get away with calling her [i]Vira[/i]. She nodded.
“Yep, this is it. Thanks, Uncle Matt.”
He smiled, showing two rows of perfectly white teeth.
“Be safe, girl. I don't want to have to tell Freddy and Odysseus that I got you into trouble.”
Elvira tried to keep her smile, and barely managed to. She had conversed with the new voice on the drive here. Not Yasuo, no. For some reason, the Asian man had stopped talking to her once she left the hospital. Maybe he thought he'd said enough, or maybe she was just too far away. She probably never would know. The voice had yet to disclose her name – Elvira could tell it was a woman – had told her of what she needed to do once she got there. She'd told her more or less what they were up against. Something powerful, but not too powerful. If we catch it off-guard, that should be enough. She'd said it was important, perhaps the most important thing Elvira would ever do. She nodded at Matthew.
“I'll be fine. Tell Melanie I said hi.”
As she stepped out of the car, he nodded back.
“I will. See you later, Elvira.”
He drove off, not knowing that his words would ring very true later. Elvira turned her head, and as soon as her “uncle Matt” drove out of sight, her eyes lit up with an azure glow.

As the third pulse hit, Jonah fell onto his back. On the way down, he bumped his head on the barrier and could feel it give way to him. He didn't care much. It was over. He had bargained with his own life, thinking for some reason that game of Duel Monsters, a man-made game, would for some reason allow him to stand up against Versago. An entity whose very existence seemed to defy the laws of the world. He had stared into the face of the abyss, and let it consume him from within. Now, he was paying the price.

He did not have the strength to lift his head high enough, but he could feel Versago approaching him. He could feel the air grow thicker, making every breath feel as if he was shoving hot coal down his windpipe. He could feel the irregularity of his existence come closer with every moment. Each step his former adversary – and now conqueror – took spread a wave of chill through the grass. Jonah could even see the frost, turning the once green surface white. He started to shiver, and his teeth were clattering.
[i]”Here we are, Jonah Morae. Separated from the rest of the world, you realize your insignificance. You and your kind are disposable. Should one of you die, in the blink of an eye there will be someone to replace you.”[/i]
Jonah tried to nod. It came out as more of a chuckle than anything. He sighed.
“I... I know, Versago. I know that, to you, are lives are nothing but wind in a storm.”
[i]”Poetic, Jonah Morae, but true.”[/i] He paused. “[i]I find it humorous, Jonah Morae. Separate a person from their power source, and they become nothing but a discarded puppet. Without that guardian of yours, you are completely alone in this world. But I can help you with that.[/i]”
Jonah groaned.
“You, help me? With all due respect, Versago, I am as good as dead. I couldn't possibly be of any use to you.”
Jonah heard something that sounded very familiar to the destruction of the Wickspire. Though they had been thousands of miles away by the time it shattered, they had heard it clearly. He assumed Versago was laughing.
“[i]Though your current state is weak, Jonah Morae, you have displayed an affinity for power. Without your spirit here to hold you back, I can grant you that power – at a cost, of course. You would have to come with me, and leave everyone you know behind. However, I understand that that wouldn't be difficult for you. You do not have much of a life here, do you?[/i]”
Jonah took a few seconds to respond. Something in Versago's words had reminded him of the past. Nothing very distant, and probably not intentionally. Something that had happened in Texas. Something that might save his life.
“You say that I am separated from my spirit, Versago? That I have lost my power?”
The anomalous Versago nodded.
“[i]The spirit that was summoned into this world has been separated from you. You are alone, but with potential for greatness. If you choose to reject my offer, you will die.[/i]”
He reached out his hand, gesturing seemingly into mid-air.
“[i]The space that we exist in has adapted itself to my existence, Jonah Morae. If I leave, what separates it from your world will collapse in a matter of moments. You have already seen what happens when beings of two different worlds collide.[/i]”
Jonah nodded, the image of Simon Chalis still vivid in his mind. That might complicate things... if he's telling the truth. Or it may not matter at all. He sat up, tried to regain some stability, and then got to his feet. He felt Versago's eyes on him, not without a sense of questioning.
“I understand.”
He raised his left index finger.
“However, I have one question for you, Versago. How did you figure out I have no powers of my own?”
Versago smiled his crescent-moon smile again.
“[i]It was simple to arrive at that conclusion, Jonah Morae. You did not heal the wound that the scientist had been given after my arrival in your world. Your spirit did when you asked him to. Therefore, you are incapable of doing so by yourself.[/i]”
Jonah smiled. Just what I thought.
“Impressive reasoning, Versago, but it is... incorrect. I asked Kyaran to heal him, that is true, but not because I am powerless.”
He sensed something from Versago. Not worrying, far from it, but perhaps he was confounded. Jonah continued.
“It was because my powers aren't refined enough for healing just yet. I'm too... destructive.”
Before Versago had a chance to respond, Jonah raised his left arm. He still felt weak from the repeated assault on his body, but he had no choice. Ever since the incident in Austin, Texas, Jonah had refrained from using his power. If he had killed or injured any of his friends with his own power, he would be no better than his brother. Now, however, the playing field was different. It was just him and Versago now. He wouldn't mind hurting his newfound enemy. In fact, killing him for how he had treated the memory of Jonah's father seemed very appropriate. Jonah tapped into that power source, the depth he always imagined somewhere close to his heart, and felt a surge of energy pass through his body.

It was true what Versago had said; Jonah was now truly more separated from Kyaran than ever before. When together, the power that Jonah could use had always been red. The flames that could both damage and heal depending on intent and control, their most influential power, had always been red. The light that was emitted from between the fingers of Jonah's closed fist was now a dark blue, seemingly pulsing with emotion and having a life of its own. This was the power he was born to have. The power that he had very little control over... but now, he didn't need control. All that he needed now was relentless destruction and devastation. He smiled – no, he grinned – at Versago, and opened his closed hand. It was time.

Neither Diego nor Kyaran could believe their eyes. For the last half hour or so, the smoke had been uneasy, unsettling as if boiling. Now, it seemed to have reached a critical point. A brilliant beam – no, a [i]torrent[/i] – of bright blue light shattered the top of the dome-shaped barrier, shooting far up into the skies above. As they watched, the barrier started to cave in, sending pieces of it high into the air above them. Kyaran would have been able to see them dissipate if he had any interest in the matter whatsoever. His sole focus had moved from the strand of flame – which was now making its way through the holes opening up here and there in the barrier – to the fountain of energy that he saw before him. He had seen it once before – and he knew the aftermath of what had happened just as well as anyone else in their family. This was the power that ran in their family, that ran so very strongly in the Norgrass-Morae constellation. But while their progenitor, Obelisk, had used the power with great finesse and style, the young Morae men were prone to recklessness. He and the rest of them had seen it happen to Eric three years earlier – he felt the great power that ran through his veins, and without Aigora to keep him in check, he succumbed to it. However, Eric had succeeded where Jonah had failed, and been able to keep his powers under control. The older brother had learned to use the ability inherited from his father, the ability to manipulate energy flows so that he could use the powers of others at will, and was able to use that to his advantage. Jonah, on the other hand, was relying solely on the quantity of his power, the mass of the avalanche, to accomplish whatever he was trying to do. He didn't give a single thought as to the consequences this amount of power might have if it was released into the world. Kyaran had seen it happen at the Wickspire, in Eric Morae's death, and the aftermath of that surge had been felt not just in their world but in countless others. Kyaran felt that the same might happen here.

They were not the only ones to see the blinding beam of dark blue light, or hear the ravaging sound of the barrier cracking, or feel the effects of what happened. James Harrington awoke with a sudden burst of energy
after finally managing to fall asleep. Seeing the light coming in through the blinds of his bedroom window, he rushed over there to see an alien light come bursting out of mid-air.
The light came to Melanie Freeborn and Karen Jackson at the Castor Medical Center, who both did not only become healthy and rid of their diseases, but in Karen's case also regained their consciousness. Karen's eyes flung wide open, glowing with the same azure light that her parents had seen in Elvira's eyes less than an hour earlier.
It came to Alicia Bell, who had slept through the events of the morning and was even unaware that Jonah had left the house earlier that morning. She'd crawled out of bed, and walked over to her window – the one facing west, where a few rays of the sunset would always get through her blinds and get straight into her eyes – from where she could see most of town. The light frightened her, but it somehow seemed familiar. It reminded her of the Adriatic in the fall, when she and her brother used to crawl onto the rocks outside of town and watch the sea. She smiled, and went back to bed.
Most importantly, it came to Elvira Jackson and the spirit that was floating by her side. They had been waiting for the moment to act, for their enemy to let their guard down long enough for them to strike a critical blow. That time was now. Elvira could see that, and feel that, without the spirit's help. She merely felt approval as she ran around the corner and booked it for the house.

Jonah leaned over, chest hanging and desperately gasping for breath. He had finally released everything he was capable of, and the very air around them was still full of dark blue residue from the assault. He could barely see his own hands. He felt so, so weak, as if he'd run a marathon on stilts. But it felt good, didn't it? Everything he'd held back for the last year, everything he'd been afraid to use in fear of hurting someone. Now, he realized that he didn't have to care. He had the power. He could do what he pleased. No one could stand in his way. Eric had been right that day in the Wickspire, he realized. This world was theirs for the taking. All they needed to do was to take that first step. Today, Jonah had done so. Jonah had stood up against Versago, a creature whose power towered over the Dreadroot's, and not only shattered his prison but had also left him...
“[i]Is that all you have, Jonah Morae?[/i]”
...unharmed. Not a scratch, not a limp leg, not even a damaged arm. He wasn't sure if Versago was even capable of bleeding, but he was sure that his adversary wouldn't have been bleeding either. The crescent-moon smile shone through the residue.
“[i]You truly do not understand power, Jonah Morae. You are nothing but a blunt club, a fist that strikes down. A person that understands their power is far more dangerous, far more influential, than someone who does not. Someone who chooses not to understand their power is a fool. Your power was created from death, Jonah Morae, and I have spent my entire existence fighting death. I understand your power better than you do. I offered to teach you, if you would come with me, but instead you attacked me.”
He took a step forward, and the moment his foot connected with the ground Jonah lost his balance. He tried to stay upright, but stumbled and fell onto his back again. The weakness that had set in after his assault on Versago had exhausted him, and his body couldn't take much more. With each step, Versago accented his words.
“[i]You [/i]test[i] my [/i]patience[i], Jonah Morae, but [/i]you[i] could [/i]still[i] be useful. Even I cannot act alone.”[/i]
Versago was now standing right beside the lying Jonah, and the crescent-moon smile appeared. He reached out his hand toward Jonah's chest – and then, there was no more darkness.

Elvira ran onto Yasuo Hironima's lawn with absolutely no control over her limbs. She had decided to let the spirit act, for now. She seemed to know what she was doing. Elvira could still see through her own eyes, her vision hued in light blue, and what she saw was... weird. The house at the end of the lawn was covered by a cloud of black fog that seemed to be collapsing in front of her eyes. A strong flow of energy was pouring, rushing, from the top of the fog. Obviously, that was where the dark blue pillar that had dissipated only moments before had come from. Elvira could feel a noticeable thickness in the air, a sort of pressure that made it slightly more difficult to move. Something very dangerous had happened here today, something that wouldn't come undone in a long time... perhaps not even in their lifetime.

That fact gave her even less time to act. From what Yasuo had said, the boy Jonah was most likely responsible for this. She couldn't see him anywhere; the only ones that were around was the old Latino man that could be none other than Diego Rodriguez, and the winged warrior-spirit that had to be Kyaran, Jonah's guardian. The latter perplexed her far more than the former. Though Yasuo had explained the history of the Tormentor's kin, how there were hundreds of them spread throughout the world with various abilities and a select few with guardian entities providing even more power, it was strange to see one of them in the flesh. So to speak.

The spirit raised Elvira Jackson's arms, reaching them out in front of her. Elvira would never forget what happened next. The sensation of the spirit's power urging through her, bursting through her veins and sending shivers across her skin, was spectacular. Before her very eyes, a light-blue, slightly oval-shaped disc appeared in her left hand. Two semi-arc shot out from her right hand, forming a shape that was not very different from a longbow. Without her consent, her left arm moved backwards, and she could feel the strain on her right arm increase. Holding the stretched bow in her hands for a few seconds, she decided to let go of her projectile and sent a brief prayer that it would strike home.

Kyaran noticed the spirit's presence the moment before she released the longbow. He saw the black-haired girl with the azure-glowing eyes, holding a weapon aimed at them in her hands, but even that was not his primary concern. His gaze fell on the spirit hovering above her, connected to the girl with several dozen thin strands of blue light. It was a woman with long, reddish-brown hair, and blue eyes. She was dressed in a white, long-sleeved robe that reached down to her ankles, with dark-blue shoulder ornaments. Atop her head sat a crown with green and crimson designs. Her arms were in the same position as the girl's, but with a significant difference; she was actually holding a weapon, rather than an illusion of one. The bow in the woman's hand was large, long enough to reach down in front of the girl on the ground and reach up above the spirit's head, and had a design that reminded Kyaran of a tree branch, or perhaps a blooming rose. The arrow that had appeared in her left hand was almost half as long as the bow – Kyaran estimated it to be about four feet long – and radiated the same blue aura. It was moving too fast for him to react, for him to protect himself and Diego against the oncoming assault – but he didn't need to.

As if by some otherworldly circumstance, not only did the arrow pass right in between them, the moment before it would have crashed into the still rather stable foot of the barrier, that part gave way and leaved an opening. The arrow passed through without as much as touching the black fog. Then, there was a scream.

Something had landed on Jonah's chest. Something that crawled, slithered and stumbled around, but refused to move. It made sounds that reminded Jonah of dogs running through grass and cars rolling down the interstate. The moment before, Versago had reached out his hand to do... something, and Jonah had closed his eyes. Hoped for the pain to be swift. However, there was no pain. There was only confusion
{[i]what just happened[/i]}
and then a world-shattering scream. Jonah couldn't even describe it; it was so utterly horrifying, so full of pain and suffering that it seemed to represent agony rather than show it. He decided to look up, and opened his eyes. Versago had stumbled back toward Hironima's house, seemingly clutching his arm as he screamed. There was something wrong with it, though; it looked as if it was bent, or curved, or...
Jonah's gaze fell onto the thing on his chest. [I]...or cut off.[/i] It was Versago's severed forearm, still continuously shifting its shape like the rest of its body constantly did.
Now, it was Jonah's turn to scream.

The barrier instantly crumbled to shreds, and the three individuals there were treated to the terrible scene before them. Jonah was lying on the ground, not even two yards away from them, and looking almost deathly pale. His skin had turned completely and utterly white, and his eyes were two black pits. He had rolled to one side, and stared, frightened, at Versago's severed left forearm, Duel Generator still attached to it. Versago himself was now by the porch, holding the severed stump that used to be his left arm, and stumbling back into the house through the broken window. The anomaly's eyes went from Kyaran to Diego, trying to find the perpetrator, until they fell on Elvira... or rather, the spirit hovering above her. Had Kyaran turned around, which he had no intention to, he would have seen the woman's smile.
“[i]You... This will prove to be interesting.[/i]”
He looked back at Kyaran, who forced himself to stare into his eyes.
“[i]This is not over, children of the Tormentor. It is only the beginning.[/i]”
With that, he disappeared into the house. At first, Kyaran tried to follow, but felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw the robed spirit right behind him, her humongous bow nowhere to be found.
“Trust him, Kyaran. This battle will be continued another day. Now, you have someone else to attend to.”
Kyaran cast a glance at Jonah, the deathly white boy he had been united with on the day he was born, and sighed. Before hovering down to attend to him, Kyaran looked at the spirit once more.
“You seem to know a lot about us, woman. How? Who are you?”
The woman shook her head.
“There will be time for explanations later. However, I can tell you my name.”
She paused.
“I am Dryad, Queen of the Elements.”
[/spoiler]

[Vector Nightmare]

I was like... waiting for a third person to post in here, but it seems the lack of appreciation for good stories is one thing that has not changed over the years in YCM. Ah well, I remember it took Chronicles four or five chapters to really round up some readers. Don't give up hope. On a side note, the spoiler issue is fixed. I think posting it in its own website is a good idea though, since it solves many of the issues one faces with formatting and stuff. Have you considered putting it up on FF.net?

Onto the second chapter: I just realized that Lester is Lucciano's dub name. Funky. The way you build things up to a CARD GAAAME!!! and then nothing happens is, as usual, amazing. It was kind of unbelievable that those two were apparently able to keep up with a speeding car for[i] ten minutes[/i], arriving just in time to see it park. I don't think you thought that through very well, or there's something I missed. On a positive note, I liked the rest of the chapter a lot. I think you structured the characterizations and descriptions of Yasuo and Simon very well, building up to a great scene. Strange that Simon didn't notice Lester in the camera. Still, looking forward to how it turns out.

[Phantom Roxas]

Well, here's the third person. By the way, though the site is handy, since the spoiler problem is fixed, it's possible to put the chapter back up here.

I noticed a glaring inconsistency in the first chapter. When Lester is introduced, Alicia is referred to as "Ms. Bell," only to be referred to as "Mrs. Bell" in the very next sentence. It felt odd that after all the serious introduction, the conversation between Jonah and Lester felt a bit awkward. The tone change felt rather sudden, though that may have been due to the slang. I had expected Jonah to become more of a Deadpan Snarker.

Criticism aside, I'm glad that Legacy of the Tormentor is finally continuing, and the plot is interesting. Seeing how you have a chapter count already prepared, I assume you've already planned most of this out. The nod to DMU was clever, so I can agree with Lester.

[Umbra]

[spoiler=Original post]I bet y'all didn't expect this when you woke up this morning.

Chapter Five, titled Hatred and Sorrow, is well on the way.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Chapter 9: Catastrophe]

To Jonah, everything was a blur. He'd tried to get the severed arm off his chest by rolling away, but he was unsure if it had actually fallen off or not. Though he was lying on his side, his chest almost vertical, he could still feel it lying there, crawling against his shirt and trying to claw its way through. As if viewed through the bottom of a glass, he could see Versago stumble back into the house where he'd come from. His first instinct, before rational thought set in, mirrored Kyaran's only moments earlier. He tried to move his arm, tried to get back on his feet, but he felt as if he was moving through quicksand. He sighed, and relaxed his body. For now, he was powerless. He closed his eyes, and let himself be surrounded by darkness.

Then, a flickering red fire.

Kyaran's uneasy feelings settled as the red strand of flame connected with Jonah. This was the longest he had been separated from Jonah since the battle at the Wickspire, and the second longest time since he had first met him. He remembered very well the situation three years ago, when Jonah had been assaulted by the Wicked Avatar and was brainwashed by him. Kyaran had seen the mindlessness in Jonah's eyes as he had adopted his new name, Adam. He had been forced to switch sides in the middle of the battle, and had escorted two of the Avatar's prisoners – Jonah's younger cousin Susannah, and the latter's friend Abigail. The two of them were captured for their heritage; Susannah was close enough to the Tormentor's bloodline to have her own guardian spirit – Kyaran's only sister Nephthys – and Abigail was none other than the direct heir of the Tormentor's perhaps strongest ally, the golden dragon Ra. After the Avatar's defeat along with the other Wicked Gods at the top of the Spire, the curse on Jonah's mind had lifted and he had become his old self again. Kyaran had feared that it would have long-lasting effects on him, but until now he had never shown any signs of the like.

What Kyaran saw now was a ghastly reminder of that time. Jonah had gone beyond pale; his skin was completely and utterly white, as if he had been drenched in bleach. His hair had lost all color, turning pitch-black, and so had the whites of his eyes. His eyes were closed now, but Kyaran had managed to see them briefly. It terrified him. The colors of his clothes seemed eerie and otherworldly compared to the lack of nuances in his appearance. Above all, however, what terrified Kyaran the most was the feeling he got from Jonah. Or, to be precise, the lack of feeling. Even when Jonah had restrained his power, Kyaran had been able to feel its presence in the air. Now, there was absolutely nothing.

If Kyaran was distraught by what had happened during the last few minutes, Diego had absolutely no idea what was going on. One moment, he and Kyaran had watched the collapsing barrier and the torrent of energy that burst out through it momentarily. The next, a dark-haired girl had run up behind them and done... something. Diego thought he recognized her, but he couldn't quite place her. She had moved far too quickly for Diego to react, much less see. Now, the entire barrier had collapsed, and Kyaran was by Jonah's side. The girl was still standing behind them, observing the scene. Diego looked at her, noticing the azure-glowing eyes but dismissing it as the latest in line of strange things happening in a very, very strange day. He had heard the girl speak, she called herself Dryad, but that was not a name Diego had ever heard in this town.
”Dryad, if that is your name, what have you done to this girl?”
The girl turned her head to look at him. There was a sort of stiffness in her movements that made Diego think of a marionette.
“You are Diego Rodriguez, no?”
Diego nodded, and the dark-haired girl nodded back.
“I have a message for you from Hironima Yasuo.” She cleared her throat. “Crystalfound has all the answers about Vergüenza.”
Diego froze. Not many people knew his son's full name; Yasuo had been one of the few. Not noticing his reaction (perhaps, not caring), the girl continued.
“If he's still alive, Harold Leander can tell you everything you need to know.”
Diego nodded, more as a reaction than a sign of understanding. If anything, he did not understand this. He had only heard the name “Leander” in one context; as Damon Leander, owner of a majority of the Crystalfound Corporation and its original founder. More than once, his son had referred to Damon Leander as “boss”; Diego had assumed he was running things over there. Vergüe hadn't ever mentioned another Leander there. Perhaps he had been in charge of the corporation from behind the scenes? Or even worse, perhaps he-
“Mr. Rodriguez?”
The girl interrupted his train of thought.
“For your own safety, you should get out of town as soon as possible.”
Diego was baffled at her statement; his jaw was on the verge of dropping, and his eyes widened just a little.
“Leave? What do you mean, child?”
Hearing his last word, the black-haired girl smiled.
“I am not a child, Mr. Rodriguez. But it is of utmost importance that you leave immediately. From what I can tell, you're on Jonah's side, and he needs as many allies as he can get. If you stay in town, Mr. Rodriguez, you could very possibly be dead before sundown. If you're lucky.”

At the Castor Medical Center, Karen Jackson and Melanie Freeborn had regained consciousness and were both perfectly healthy. Dr. Steller had placed Melanie's bed in between Karen's and Mr. Hironima's, the latter of which had yet to show any signs of recovery. The two girls were looking out through the window, silently. All seven of them in the room – Odysseus and Frederica, Karen and Melanie, Dr. Steller and Veronica, and Vincent Blair, known to friends and family as Vince. He had called Matthew at least seven times since the blue pillar of light had burst out of Adoración and into the skies above, but no answer. He called Matthew's number again, and waited. Three signals. He must've died in the explosion, or whatever that thing was. Four signals. He must've been distracted by seeing that thing and driven off the road. Elvira must be dead, too. Five sig-
“Vince?”
He sighed of relief. One of his worst traits was his paranoia.
“Matt, I'm so glad to hear your voice. Where are you?”
There was a brief moment of silence on the other end.
“I'm on my way back into town. I need to find Elvira. I must've been five minutes away from town when that beam appeared. She might be in trouble.”
All worry about Matt gone, Vince's concern shifted to the Jacksons' girl. He looked at Odysseus and Frederica, who had joined Karen and Melanie by the window. They'd put their daughter in Matt's care, and now something like this happened. He kept his voice down.
“Just... call me when you find her, right?”
He paused for a moment.
“Love you, Matt.”
He could almost hear Matt smile on the other end of the line.
“Love you too, Vince. How's Melanie?”
Vince smiled half a smile.
“She and Karen are both up, looking out the window.”
Then, he hung up. Vince left the phone in his hands for a second, then put in his pocket.
Neither of them knew, of course, that Matthew Freeborn wouldn't be able to live up to that promise.

Dryad nodded Elvira Jackson's head at the scene to her right. Kyaran was kneeling beside Jonah, in between them, and as far as Diego and Dryad could tell, he had put his hands on Jonah's chest. She cleared her throat.
“What Jonah did today caused great damages to this town. It may have been necessary for him to survive, or at least to distract the enemy-”
Diego interrupted her.
“Versago. His name is Versago.”
Elvira Jackson's eyes, surrounded by azure lights, looked at him, annoyed. Elvira Jackson's shoulders were shrugged.
“He managed to distract Versago long enough for me to intervene. However, he also caused irreversible events to transpire. Look at the scene, Diego Rodriguez. See for yourself.
Diego looked. Now that she mentioned it, he could see it clearly. Hironima's lawn, the front of his house, and the walls of the nearby buildings – even his own house next door – were... shining. The buildings were giving off blue light that gave the place an eerie feeling.
“What exactly is going on here, Dryad?”
Elvira Jackson's head nodded.
“A short while after I came here, but not too long ago, the mother of this girl lived in a different place. It looked similar, but the people there spoke a different language. The people there started speaking of a disaster that had happened somewhere else, where a large amount of energy was released into the air. It infected the people, the animals and even the elements themselves. The mother's people were afraid, Diego, but I felt nothing but disgust. It took a while, but I managed to urge them to leave. Do you understand me, Diego?”
Diego nodded.
“Chernobyl scared all of us, Dryad. We weren't sure what would happen.”
She didn't respond.
“The energy in that place was different from here. This isn't as tainted, not as foul, but it will affect everyone in town at the very least. The energy will enter their bodies, one way or the other, and then... things will change. Some of them may develop superhuman abilities, but I suspect most of them will become very sick, and possibly die.”
It took Diego a few seconds to connect what she said with what was actually happening.
“So you're saying this town is lost? Are you saying that God has abandoned us, Dryad?”
Elvira Jackson's head was shaken.
“I cannot speak for your God, Diego Rodriguez, but I believe that he would want you alive rather than dead. If you want to save yourself, you need to leave now, before things get bad.”
Diego raised his right arm, gesturing at the nearby buildings. He was furious.
“What about everyone else? Do you expect me to leave them behind, Dryad?! Do you want me to forget everyone I know? I can't let everyone die!”
To his surprise, Dryad shrugged.
“I can't stop you, Diego Rodriguez. I can only tell you what I know. If you don't leave now, you will either be dead or dying by nightfall.”

Kyaran hadn't heard a word of their conversation. He was far too focused on, as he would've put it, more important things. Restoring Jonah to consciousness was his number one priority. The young man had exhausted every single drop of his power against Versago, and as far as Kyaran could tell their enemy was unscathed before Dryad had attacked him herself. Kyaran wasn't sure what to make of their new enemy – was he just far more powerful than them, or was it Kyaran's failed training that had made Jonah lose control of his power? - or their new ally, for that matter. If she was an ally, that was. Right now, the only thing she'd done was blindly aim at the barrier and get a lucky shot against Versago. She could just as easily have hit Jonah instead.
[i]Perhaps she tried that, and when it failed she pretended to be our ally, to make us let our guard down?[/i] The thought had crossed his mind, but he found it unlikely. If she wanted to kill them, she could've done so already. After seeing her assault on Versago, Kyaran had no doubt as to whether she could destroy him or not. Versago himself seemed to be gone; Kyaran couldn't sense any evidence of his presence. He had apparently gone back into the house where he'd come from, and then promptly disappeared, just as quickly as he'd come there.

Overall, the situation troubled him, in a far more fundamental sense than the physical trauma. He had grown up in the Divine Court, the Tormentor's closest circle headed by Obelisk and the two dragons Osiris and Ra, and had heard the Tale of Creation many times. How his father and the Dreadroot had created the Multiverse together, populating worlds as they saw fit and took residence where they could control their “favored” people. Now, not only had Versago claimed that he had been around before the Dreadroot existed – an impossible statement in itself – but Dryad had been able to drive him back. Not only that, but he had sensed something about her power, something he had never encountered before. It was radically different from his father's and the Dreadroot's powers – the powers that had shaped the Multiverse itself. [i]How could such a person, such a being, even exist?[/i] Then, a worse thought entered his mind, a thought that explained everything but that he didn't want to believe. [i]Did Father lie to me? To all of us?[/i] He looked down, and saw that Jonah's had started to regain some color. It was still a sickly white, but it was definitely on its way back. Though he felt tired, Kyaran couldn't help but to smile.

Matthew Freeborn felt a bit disoriented as he stepped out of the car. He'd parked just where he'd dropped off Elvira, barely across the street from the Hironima residence. As he started running, he felt something else. The air had become humid all of a sudden, as if they were in a rainforest, and he found himself short of breath. [i]Really need to hit the gym more often.[/i] As he ran across the street, he spotted Elvira a few feet onto the lawn, talking to some older man. Not much further ahead, close to the porch, something was lying on the ground. At first, Matthew didn't recognize the shape of the eighteen-year-old boy, who had now turned a slightly darker nuance of gray, but eventually he did. He ran up to Elvira, and grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Elvira! Thank goodness, you're alright! We need to get you back to the-”
The young girl's head turned, and Matthew froze. Her eyes were glowing, radiating a bright blue color. Matthew could only find one explanation; that pillar, whatever it was, had gotten to her already. When she spoke, her lip movements didn't match her voice, as if she had been a dubbed voice actor in the show of her own life.
“Who are you, and why are you grabbing me?”
[i]She doesn't remember... Oh God, she doesn't even remember me![/i] Just as he was about to reply, the older man stepped in between them.
“I don't know who you are, sir, but you need to get away from this place as soon as possible. We don't know what could happen if you stayed, do we?”
To Matthew's surprise, Elvira nodded.
“If you care about your life, you need to leave. Immediately.”
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd driven back into town – a five-minute drive, sure, but he had a recently recovered daughter back at the hospital - and feared his best friend's daughter was in grave danger, but what had he found? Rejection. Threats, even. He looked at the old man.
“I don't know who you are, what you think you're talking about, or how you know Elvira, but I need to get her out of here. Whatever that pillar was, it could be dangerous, and her parents are worried sick about her. They've already had one daughter in the hospital today; I don't want to be responsible for sending another one there.” He nodded at the unconscious young man, lying on his back and still looking deathly sick.
“Stand back, Elvira. I'll get him, and then we're all - “, glaring intently at Diego, “ - going to the hospital.”
He turned to the house, and started to run.
[I]
Dryad, stop him!
I can't stop him anymore than I could stop Diego Rodriguez from thinking he needed to save everyone, Elvira. Even now, I can see that he struggles to stay here. I can tell he wants to run across the street and get his friend in this moment.
I don't care! Uncle Matt's family to me! I know him better than you!

...You know the man that just ran up to us?
[b]OF COURSE I DID,[/b] why do you think he knew my name?! For Christ's sake, Dryad, he was the one that drove us here in the first place!
I wasn't paying attention. We had something far more important on our minds, remember? Getting the Tormentor boy out of danger so that we can tell him what he needs to know? Muster the allies for the great battle that is certain to come? Don't you remember what I told you, Elvira? What the ascending man told us?
Of course I remember! But that doesn't mean you get to decide who lives or dies, Dryad! Let me out!
I can't, Elvira. It would expose you to-
I don't care! Let me out!
But Elvi-
LET ME OU
[/i]

As if by the snap of a finger, Elvira's eyes lost their radiant aura. She immediately spun around a full one-thirty-five.
“Uncle Matt, no! Don't touch him!”
But it was too late. Matthew Freeborn knelt by Jonah's head, and grabbed hold of his shoulders.

Kyaran was taken completely off-guard by the man's appearance. He had briefly felt a weak presence approach them, but had mistaken it for Diego and thought little of it. He had come too swiftly for him to interfere; when he saw the thirty-or-so-year-old man in the corner of his eye, he felt too weak and powerless to react. What happened next came as a complete surprise.

The disorientation that Matthew had felt earlier had now built up into a hurricane of distorted directions and off-center gravity. He felt as if every movement he made would make him fall over, that even the slightest wind would cause him to collapse, but he couldn't care. He needed to get this kid and Elvira out of there and back to the hospital where they could be treated, no matter what. Sure, he could get a check-up for all of this madness when he got there, too. He forced himself down on one knee, and grabbed hold of the boy's shoulders in an attempt to pull him up.

Dryad's estimate of what might happen due to overexposure to the energy was only partially correct. She had only included the residue that was falling from the skies – a relatively low concentration compared to the pure cloud that had circulated inside Versago's barrier before it collapsed. The energy there had started to react with the materials inside – clothes, grass, and even the molecular bacteria floating in the air – and affected nature itself. The affected air had started to spread through town, acting as a catalyst to the same process wherever it went. As soon as Matthew Freeborn had stepped out of his car, he had breathed in the residue, making him feel dizzy and unsettled. By the time he had reached Elvira, it had been picked up by his heart and started clawing its way through his bloodstream. Breathing the air from inside the barrier, containing an extremely high concentration, had been the drop that caused the cup to run over. Being exposed to such a large amount of the catalyst, the residue in Matthew's bloodstream entered both his spine and his brain within milliseconds, and completely seized control of his body.

Matthew Freeborn collapsed to the ground, his back arching over as if he was in great agony. Elvira's hand went to her mouth, trying to hold back a scream. Yet, she didn't run to his side. Dryad may not care about the man that was practically family to Elvira, but she cared about [i]her[/i]. She believed what she'd said in their internal discussion. If she went any closer, she would definitely be exposed to whatever that thing was, and the same thing would happen to her. She was forced to watch as a man she called family was changed forever.

Kyaran realized he couldn't wait any longer. Mustering all of the strength he still had, he grabbed Jonah's shoulders and legs, lifting him up. The man that had run up to them was now lying on the ground, twitching as if he was having a seizure. Kyaran could clearly see the physical metamorphosis that the man was undergoing, perhaps far clearer than any of the humans. The man had developed an aura, similar to that of the Tormentor's kin but with a crucial difference; where Jonah's aura – normally – emanated from him, this man's aura was a cage that restrained him, controlled him. He had become subject to his own power, enslaved by its will.

In that moment, the creature that once was known to his friends and family as Matthew Freeborn descended into madness.
[/spoiler]

[Umbra]

And, just as expected, [i]bump[/i]. I'm sorry it took so long to update; my internet access has been far from stable over the past few months, and I wasn't sure if I had the bandwidth for YCM.

Nonetheless, a few comments on the latest two chapters would be verily appreciated.

[spoiler=Chapter 10: The Sickness]
[i]Something is wrong.[/i]
The creature looked at its hands, which had turned a light blue. As he moved his fingers, he heard audible scratching as the crystals covering his skin scraped against each other. His fingernails had protruded and curved, taking on a claw-like shape.
[i]Something is right.[/i]
The creature felt a certain stride in his step that hadn't been there before; the muscles in his leg had contorted into a more agile form. He took a step forward, and almost lost his balance. This was going to take some time to get used to, but he could wait. He felt far more alive than he had ever done before. The power that coursed through him was pure, was [i]right[/i].
[i]What am I?[/i]
I am Matthew Freeborn, he thought.
[i]No.[/i]
He stopped thinking.
[i]I am immortal.[/i]

James Harrington's morning was only getting worse and worse. After having seen the huge pillar burst out from the opposing lawn, he had concluded that it made absolutely no sense, that Diego would have to solve this on his own ([i]maybe that God of his can help[/i], he thought) and went back to sleep.

Well, tried to, at least. He'd felt a strange, cold wind blow through his house shortly after the pillar disappeared, and ever since then he couldn't stop shivering. During the last half hour or so, he'd started to feel disoriented. A headache was coming his way, too, he could tell. Not a small one, either; he rarely suffered from migraines, but often enough for him to be able to recognize them. Even now, lying in his bed, he felt as if he was going to sink through the sheets, through the surface of the world itself, and just keep falling. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but strange visions – a tower, an explosion and a grasping arm – kept him awake. He twisted and turned, restless.

Then, he thought he saw something odd. The room itself – the walls, the floor, even the sheet of his bed – started to shine. At first, it was only a feint light; a dim afterglow, like a sun just beneath the horizon. As the minutes – seconds? Hours? Time had ceased to matter to James Harrington – went by, the glow only grew stronger. He could see dancing lights before his eyes; blue spots that moved from side to side as he scanned the room for what caused this strange phenomenon. He only got halfway out of his bed before the coughing started. With every eruption he coughed up mucus, as well as clouds of dark blue dust that remained in the air like smoke after an explosion. He lied down again. Tried to close his eyes. Couldn't. Another cough.

“So, what do you think that light was?”
Andrea and John Morgan had taken Lester to his room, where the boy had almost instantly fallen asleep. They were now in the kitchen; John was at the stove, making lunch for the three of them. Andrea was sitting at the kitchen table, her face buried in her hands. John had asked her the question, his back to her. She sighed.
“I don't know, John.” She looked at the stairs, leading up to the second floor. “I just hope he's going to be okay.” John turned slightly towards her, and smiled a half-smile.
“Of course he will, honey. What was he doing out there, anyway?”
Raising her face to meet his eyes, Andrea shook her head.
“I'm not sure. He said he was meeting some friend of his...”
She sighed again, and was silent for a second.
“Ah, I can't remember his name. They were meeting at the Sundown; I'm not sure how he ended up without his friend halfway across town.”
She looked directly into his eyes.
“Diego didn't say anything, either.”
John frowned. He had met Diego Rodriguez a handful of times, mostly through Andrea's church groups, and thought there was something odd about the man. He didn't like the way he and Lester had connected, but he didn't say anything about that. He supposed it was normal.
“We'll just have to ask him when he wakes up.”
He grabbed hold of the frying pan, and turned slightly to face her.
“Scrambled eggs?”

On the above floor, Lester wasn't asleep. Nor was he awake. He was something... in between. A trance, if you may. He could hear his parents talk in the kitchen, but at the same time he was dreaming. He dreamed of a time long gone, when men and women of pure, unmitigated power walked the Earth. They shaped the world around them to their will, altering reality itself as they saw fit. He ventured beyond the scope of his imagination, beyond Earth itself to different places, different worlds. He drifted above a ruined city, a city of fire, where a blonde girl was fighting a tall, shadowy figure wearing a cloak. A giant golden dragon materialized, and burned the shadow away.

He saw another city, in a place with two suns. He saw a young boy run down the street, trying to outrun an old woman whose window he had just broken, only to find himself in an alley. There, the boy was assaulted by another boy, and brutally killed on the street – for money. A giant orb, perhaps ten feet across, materialized in the alley, but collapsed – to reveal another slim, humanoid figure similar to the first one, but without the cape. Instead of fighting him, this one patted the murderer-boy on the back.
“Well done, Isiah, well done.”
Not money. A test.

He wandered through smoldering ruins, the surroundings covered in black-stone rubble for as long as he could see in either direction. He could sense that something had happened here, not too long ago, something that had forever altered the balance of the world. Beneath him he could feel the ground move – not as if by an earthquake, but as if he was standing on crackling ice. He could feel other presences there, but barely. Something else overwhelmed his perception, and he was drawn to it.

It took him to a place where the ground was shattered. The crack itself was only about six inches wide, but Lester could see that hadn't always been the case. It had regrown, mended itself. Over how long, he couldn't tell. Lester felt something seeping through the crack, something unnatural and sinister. Something that wasn't meant to be. He wanted to walk closer, to stick his arm into there, but knew that he couldn't. He withdrew from the place, returned back home. He opened his eyes... or tried to, at least.

As Lester was struggling to open his eyes, John and Andrea heard something from outside. At first, John had mistaken it for a crash of thunder: it had been so loud that he couldn't define it. It took a few seconds for it to make sense. Someone had just slammed into their door. For a few seconds, everything was still. Andrea slowly leaned over to the kitchen window, in a state of suppressed panic, and looked outside. There was nothing there. The front porch was empty. She turned her head to her husband, who was squatting behind the table. The eggs were still on the stove.
“I can't see anyth-”
A loud crash rung through the house as the front door gave way . The entryway was only separated from the kitchen by half a wall; when they'd bought the house shortly after Lester was born, they'd liked the innovative design and how it opened up the kitchen. Now, they liked it for completely different reasons. The hallway was partially concealed by dust, but John thought he could see something shuffling through it. He was reminded of a dog he'd had as a kid, who'd caught rabies and run away. The last time John saw him, he'd been running through the grass of their backyard, broken through the fence and run off into the wilds. The dust fell, and revealed the thing's face. John and Andrea both gasped.

They had moved in around Halloween of 1994. They had met around two years earlier; John had moved to Adoración after losing his job in Los Angeles, and felt like he needed a fresh start. Andrea had lived there all of her life, and was just about to move out whey met. The two of them decided to stay in town, but eventually to move away from the small one-bedroom apartment Andrea was living in when they found out she was pregnant.

The day they'd moved in, their two neighbors had come over to greet them. Linda Callister, just up the street from them, was a friendly young woman whose husband Paul was in the navy. Andrea and Linda had gone to elementary school together – they were two years apart – and reconnected almost instantly. The two of them would usually go out for dinner on either Tuesdays or Thursdays, and stumble home somewhere around midnight. For John, it took a bit longer, but eventually the two of them became friends as well. She hadn't heard from her husband in a few weeks now, and Andrea was starting to get worried. On the other side of them was a man they rarely saw after that; a young African-American by the name of Ephraim Ford, who worked the night shift down at Adoración's only supermarket, and therefore spent most of his days asleep. John had always thought, ever since he first met him, that he and Ephraim [i]could[/i]become good friends if they were given some time. They were both hard-working men who supported themselves (and in John's case, a family), and he'd taken a liking to him.

Now, all trace of that liking was lost. The creature standing in their hallway, covered with dust from the door he'd just burst through, was none other than Ephraim Ford. But he was... different. His skin was no longer black; it had changed into a dark purple color that made it difficult to look at him for too long. The whites of his eyes, which were wide open, had a light blue tint. His dark brown hair had fallen off in places, revealing several bald spots, and as John saw him a large tuft fell off and landed on his shoulder.
“I know you're in here.”
His voice was different, too. Scratchier, as if he'd had a sore throat for a few years, and much darker. He stepped out into the hallway, finally revealing all of himself, and John could now see why he'd been shuffling. The last time he'd seen him was a few days earlier; he'd been late from work and they met on the way. Ephraim had grown at least six inches in those few days, and his back was now hunched over. Ephraim laughed.
“The world's different now, you know. The rapture's come and gone, and we are the sinners left to walk the soil of the damned. But it feels good, doesn't it? Feels right.”
Unknowingly, the same thought went through both John's and Andrea's heads; [i]what the hell's going on here?[/i]

The same thought also went through Dr. Steller's head at the Castor Medical Center. Since shortly after two of their patients' relatives had left the building, and that strange blue light had appeared somewhere around town, the phone had been running hot. He and Veronica had taken turns answering it and observing Hironima Yasuo, who was still in critical condition. People around town and in the surrounding areas had started to collapsing, feeling disoriented or confused, and eventually they went into a coma. Others had called in about houses being broken into, and finding severely hurt people inside. Their two ambulance workers were busy like never before, driving from location to location often with two or more patients in the back. Dr. Steller started fearing they would run out of room at the hospital; they could only ever take that many people, and weren't prepared whatsoever for a disaster of this magnitude. At least the two girls were alive and well; that opened up two more beds for him to put patients on, which were filled almost immediately. He and Veronica had prepared other room for eight more, with mattresses covering the floor beneath the beds. It was far too early for a death toll to even be estimated, but Dr. Steller wasn't optimistic. Today could very well put Adoración on the map... or wipe it off it entirely.

In the waiting room, Odysseus Jackson sat down on a plastic bench that was attached to the wall. Karen, now healthy enough to stand and walk around practically plastered to the window, along with Melanie Freeborn, looking at the town a few miles away. Frederica was with them, standing by their side and keeping them calm. They were looking for the same thing he was expecting; Matthew's car driving up the road, Elvira safely in the back seat. A few minutes earlier, Dr. Steller had arrived with two more patients, Vince was sitting a few seats down, staring at the screen of his phone. In that moment, he felt closer to the man than ever. He walked over to him, and sat down by Vince's side. Matthew's partner didn't look up, but spoke to Odysseus nonetheless.
“I've tried calling him three times now. I can't reach him, Odysseus.”
He put a hand around Vince's back.
“I'm sure it's just the reception, Vince. That light must have messed it up.”
Unresponsive, Vince shook his head.
“I'm sure something's happened to him, Odysseus, to both of them! Something's happened and it's mine and Matt's fault! I'm sure it...”
His voice faded away. He was too tired, too frightened, to respond.

If they had seen what Karen Jackson saw, they wouldn't think that. She had seen through her sister's eyes ever since Dryad's first manifestation, her assault on Versago. She had seen Matthew Freeborn cease to exist, and be replaced by a beast in his shape. The man she called uncle Matt was dead; what stood in his place now was a monster. She'd tried her best to keep the tears from rolling down her cheek, but she might as well have tried to stop the sun from setting. She felt a hand on her shoulder; she turned and saw Melanie. She was crying, too. She was adopted from an orphanage in eastern Poland, but that didn't change the love she felt for the men she called fathers. Now, one of them was dead. [i]No, worse than dead.[/i] Karen didn't have the heart to tell her what happened. [i]She'll find out soon enough eventually. When they come back.[/i]
“What's that in your eye, Karen?”
Karen smiled briefly, and wiped off the tear.
“I'm just worried, you know.”
Melanie shook her head.
“No, not that. Your eyes... they glow a little.”
[i]Oh darn.[/i] She blinked, snapping off her connection with Dryad and Elvira for now, and by the time her eyes were open, the light was gone. Melanie couldn't know, not yet. If she knew, it'd lead to questions – questions that Karen couldn't answer. Melanie looked at her for a second or so, then shrugged.
“Nevermind, it's gone know.”
She sighed.
“I wish he was here.”
Karen could only nod in response. Things would be much easier if Matthew Freeborn was here right now.

Kyaran almost dropped Jonah as the man howled at them – if that thing could even be called a man anymore. It was a beast, a creature, a slave that had lost control of the power within him. It maintained only a rudimentary sense of self-consciousness, but otherwise it had succumbed entirely to its aura. Kyaran could see it clearly, strings of blue light that emerged from the back of the creature's head and attached to its hands and feet. He turned, at first to face Diego, but after realizing that the same thing could happen to him that had happened to this man, he looked at Dryad, hovering above the dark-haired girl's head.
“Help me get Jonah away from this thing, will ya?”
The girl's eyes were locked in position, staring at the creature, but Dryad turned to look at him.
“I can't move away from mine, or I'll be severed from her.”
She nodded down at the abundance of strings connecting her to Elvira. Kyaran was about to say something, but she interrupted him.
“You may have been able to reconnect to yours, warrior, but our bond is more complex than that. This took me four months to construct, and I've spent the last twelve years perfecting it. I'm not going to tear it off for the sake of some boy... or his guardian, no matter who he thinks he is.”
Kyaran frowned. At any other time, he would have been offended, but now he couldn't afford that. He nodded at the beast, who had still to make any attempt at attacking them... but nonetheless, Kyaran could sense a brutality beneath the creature's skin.
“Take care of him, then, will ya?
To his surprise, Dryad shook her head.
“I can't. My host still cares about this man, the man that he was. She will not raise her arms against him if she knows I will end his existence.”

[i]What am I?[/i]
I am a hunter. A hunter is nothing without the hunt.
[i]Then seek out my prey. Find the one to kill.[/i]
The old man, then? He cannot defend himself.
[i]It would not be a hunt, then.[/i]
The girl?
[i]The girl.

Without warning, the beast that once was Matthew Freeborn lunged at Elvira. She saw him coming at her, his claws reaching for her throat, and realized that she was going to die.
“No, uncle Matt, st-”
She didn't have the time to finish her sentence before a shadow fell over her.

Diego Rodriguez saw the beast as well, and the same realization dawned upon him. Standing right by Elvira's side, he saw that both Kyaran and Dryad were powerless against the assault; the knight was carrying Jonah, too far away to react in time, and Dryad relied too much on Elvira's reflexes and emotions to be able to act freely. He was the only one that could possibly do anything... but how?
You know what you need to do.
He didn't recognize the voice. It wasn't his own, that much was certain, but it reminded him of someone. A feint memory of someone he used to know, a long time ago.
The girl needs to live. If she doesn't, all of this will be for naught. You know what you need to do, Diego.
He realized what the voice was talking about. He had lived a good life. He'd had a wife, at some point, and a son. Perhaps he'd meet them soon enough. He'd served his country, brought peace and freedom to some remote corner of the world and been honored for it. Respected, even. He hadn't had a grandchild, but he considered himself fortunate to have what he had. He had helped Lester, and many other young men and women before him, to find God. The only thing that could have been resolved was then answers about his son, how he'd disappeared... but maybe, that would cease to matter soon, too. What was important now was the girl's survival. As he jumped in front of her, and felt the claws breaking through the skin of his abdomen, a smile appeared on his lips. He knew he had done the right thing.

At the Castor Medical Center, the last tie that connected Hironima Yasuo's soul to his body was severed. The Voice was no longer merely an ideal, a sensation that could be transferred, but a means of communication. Hironima Yasuo became the metaphysical embodiment of sensation. He transcended humanity, and became one with sound, with vibration, with the world itself. He had become a god – a dead god.
[/spoiler]

[Vector Nightmare]

Epic amounts of woot-y-ness. I thought we'd lost you again V_V. If you're interested, check [url="http://forum.yugiohcardmaker.net/topic/241250-writers-guild-onwards-to-the-land-of-fantasy/page__st__20__gopid__5045581#entry5045581"]this[/url] out. It's still in its infant stages, but it might end up working.

Ahem.

Unfortunately, I'll start the review with a complaint. I don't know where you copy-pasted them from, but there are serious spacing problems. A lot of spaces have disappeared between words, making it that much harder to read, and the font... I'm not a fan of it.

Also, I solve Sudoku puzzles quite faster than 7 minutes, regardless of difficulty. Although only when I'm using a computer. Doing it on paper takes more time.

I have a small protest to make to all authors out there. I know you are not supposed to use 'bad' words in here. But replacing virtually every form of insult with 'kid' when you are addressing a young person is... well, it just sounds rather stupid after a while.

And the trope of "hey this new enemy appears that can crush the previous one without even blinking" was rather disappointing, all things considered >_>.

Kinda hoping we aren't finished with mister MELTFACEd there.

I was wondering when Jonah would remember that he was AWESOME.

I'll read and review the fourth chapter later. Good work so far, it's nice to see you are continuing this. The third chapter certainly showed a lot of promise, though I think you kind of rushed into a few things there.

[Umbra]

[spoiler=Original post]The spacing / font problems are probably due to myself using the RTF editor - a mistake I won't make again.

"kid" will be adjusted shortly.

It's either that, or Jonah calling in Flora to curbstomp Versago to the ninth circle. A stronger villain keeps the flow going, doesn't it?

Simon will still be dead, but he definitely won't fade into nowhere. There will be consequences.

I hope you'll like the fourth chapter.
[/spoiler]


[spoiler=Chapter 11: Survival]
[b]Disclaimer:[/b] Some of the material presented in this chapter are not suitable for children. If you easily find yourself disgusted by gruesome descriptions, you should not read this chapter. Women who are nursing, pregnant or may become pregnant should talk to their doctor before reading this chapter. Reading this chapter along with a healthy diet and exercise can cause weight loss. If you experience dry mouth, menstrual cramps, hair loss, hair gain, spontaneous aging, a sudden thirst, erections lasting longer than four hours, and/or hallucinations while reading this chapter, you should stop reading and talk to your doctor immediately.

Jokes aside, bad stuff happens. You've been warned. Those of you that read Death and the Strawberry know exactly what I'm capable of.


[i]He tried to kill me.[/i]
Elvira couldn't believe what she saw. She didn't want to believe. Uncle Matt had tried to kill her. He would've succeeded if the old man hadn't jumped out in front of her. Uncle Matt. Matt. He'd been there for her almost as long as her father. She'd cried in his arms more than once. His daughter was practically a sister to her. They were family. How could he just brush that aside?
[i]Maybe he had no choice.[/i]
Dryad. For being as powerful and ancient as she was, she didn't understand. She was detached from the world, sleeping. She could never understand what it was like to see your own family turn against you. To watch them become a beast, a vile murderer. Elvira knew that Dryad was wrong. She had seen Uncle Matt's eyes when he lunged at her. It frightened her, disturbed her, but she recognized it from the shows her dad would watch when her mom wasn't around. Killer intent. Determination. Whatever it was that had changed him into this beast he had become, this energy that surrounded them at this very moment, it hadn't taken control of Matty. It had made him want to kill her.
[i]He did have a choice, Dryad.[/i]
She slowly raised her hands into the same position she had held them earlier.
[i]He decided to kill me. One way or the other, this power he obtained made him realize that he wanted to kill me. I have to...[/i]
She struggled to hold back the tears as she let Dryad's power flow through her once more. The arc-shape of the longbow materialized in her hand, and the small disc that served as an arrow in the other.
[i]I have to kill him.[/i]
She released the arrow.

The creature that once had been Matthew Freeborn was still trying to scrape off the remains of Diego Rodriguez from its claws when it struck him. At first, he felt nothing. He mistook the power surging through him as adrenaline, excitement. Then, it turned to pain. He looked down, and howled in pure shock. The entire left side of his abdomen and lower chest was gone, blasted away. He could smell burnt flesh and dried-up blood, and he could see a curved rib sticking out.
[i]The girl.[/i]
She had done this to him. She could defend herself. She could kill him. This couldn't be.

Elvira could tell she had surprised Uncle Matt. He'd stopped in his tracks, paused to look down at his injuries. He was confused.
[i]This is my only chance to finish him.[/i]
But could she do it? She had already done it once, but it hadn't killed him. Just weakened him. She could feel the tears coming back, definitely not far away. Knowing perfectly well that she shouldn't, that it would only make things worse, she looked into Uncle Matt's eyes. Eyes that had watched over her and Melanie at sleepovers. Eyes that had taken care of her no matter what happened to her.
She shook her head.
Eyes that wanted to kill her. She had no choice.
“My hands will bring your doom, but my heart will only weep for you.”
She blinked, and her pupils were surrounded by an azure glow. No matter how necessary it was, she wouldn't be the one that killed him. She would leave that up to Dryad.

As soon as Elvira opened herself to Dryad, Kyaran could see the girl's aura change. The spirit, who had been hovering above her ever since the girl broke through, now hovered in closer to Elvira. Dryad, still connected to the girl by numerous threads of energy, now guided her every moment with the precision and skill of an expert. Kyaran was awestruck. To have this kind of synergy... he considered himself close to Jonah, but their bond was purely emotional. What Dryad and Elvira shared was powerful, inseparable. Dryad changed her stance by just an inch, and Elvira followed suit. The longbow in her hands now started to glow more intensely, and another, larger arrow-shape materialized in her other hand. Her words, spoken in two voices, were final.
“I'm sorry.”
She let go.

Ephraim Ford hadn't seen them yet. Only moments ago, he had burst through the door of the Morgan residence and started looking for them, speaking all the way, but somehow he hadn't seen them yet. John could see his eyes, scanning the hallway in front of him while waiting for the dust to settle. He and Andrea, still hiding by the table, didn't dare to move an inch. He could see the killing intent in those eyes. Ephraim had become a predator, a creature designed and desired to hunt them. All of his senses would soon adapt to the situation; vision, touch, hearing, taste, and...
[i]Smell.[/i]
Throughout all of this, there had been a smell lingering in the kitchen. A smell that was too normal, too bland, to fit this situation.
[i]Scrambled eggs.[/i]
The frying pan was still on the stove top, preparing their breakfast. It wasn't a very large pan, he had only making breakfast for the two of them, but it would fill its purpose. Withdrawing temporarily from the relative safety behind the table, he reached for the pan.

Ephraim Ford noticed a movement in the dust. The room was dark, even with the sunlight flooding in through the kitchen window and the open door. It wasn't dark in the traditional sense, the sense that Ephraim used to think in.
[i]It is dark, because the Lord's light does not shine here.[/i]
The pillar of light was a sign from God, that was obvious. He had seen the people of Adoración, seen into their hearts, and He deemed them unworthy of being in His presence in heaven. They needed to be cleansed, their minds purified of sin. Ephraim had been purified.
He had been a sinner in his lifetime, just as everyone in Adoración still was. He had done things, unspeakable things that should not be mentioned under the eyes of the Lord, and now, he had been forgiven. The Lord had given him this body, this divine power, to carry out His work. The others, those who were still tainted, needed to be removed. John and Andrea Morgan would only be the first to die to His hands. He wasted no time; without giving it a second thought, he lunged at the movement in the kitchen.

John was now very, very thankful for his years in the Army. Thanks to them, his reflexes were sharp enough that he was able to keep up with their attacker's swift movements, and pull back his arm just in time. The body of Ephraim Ford, arms first, missed him by inches. He felt the man's ([i]Can he still be called “man”?[/i]) eyes on him, and for the first time in many years, John was genuinely terrified. Andrea screamed. [i]Panic.[/i] John felt that he wasn't far from breaking himself.

[i]Fire and metal.[/i]
Ephraim Ford felt the pain explode over the front of his body as he crashed into the stove. It burned him, burned him terribly, but it was nothing compared to the disappointment he felt. The impure had avoided his judgment, escaped to have a few more seconds of living in sin. Ephraim felt each of those seconds as a bullet to the back of his head. By surviving, John Morgan chose to sin, rather than accept his fate and seek redemption in His eyes. He was insulting the Lord Himself.
“How dare you live, John? You defy the Lord's will! Your sins will come to an end!”
He buried his hands in the steel frame of the stove, feeling the fragile metal give way beneath his fingers, and got back to his feet. He looked to his right... and found his prey. John Morgan was lying, on his back, on the checker-tiled floor, and his eyes were wide open. Ephraim had seen those eyes, going from left to right and back to him, many times during his occasional hunting trips in his youth. Even then, Ephraim had enjoyed hunting; arming yourself with a weapon, a tool of superiority, and entering an unfamiliar world on his pursuit of prey. Now, he was armed with the Lord's judgment rather than a rifle, and it was the realm of the sinners rather than a Virginia forest, but one thing remained constant. Prey, when realizing that there is no way out, become struck by fear. Paralyzed. In a way, their body accepted their fate. Now, this sinner did the same. Ephraim couldn't help but to smile as he moved in.
“It is time for you to face the Lord, John.”

Completely oblivious to what was going on downstairs, Lester Morgan was lying in his bed. He had yet to return from his trance, the state in which he was neither awake nor asleep, but he felt more alive than ever. Unbelievable power rushed through his veins, his limbs, his very thoughts. Even with his eyes closed, he could see things... see far more than he had ever seen before. He saw the true work of the Lord in his visions; numerous worlds beyond their own, worlds of struggle and of fear. Worlds where not one, but two suns enlightened the people. He dreamed of visiting such a world.
“Come here, boy.”
Suddenly, his dream changed. He was far above ground, overlooking the town he'd known for all of his life. He gasped at the sight; not only from never having seen Adoración from above, or from flying, but from the state the town was in. The streets were crowded, with people running down the streets, screaming and shouting in fear. Several houses, as well as the supermarket, were on fire, and pillars of smoke rose high into the air. As he looked closer, he saw bodies lying in the streets, dead mid-stride. People he knew. To him, that was more terrifying than anything else.
“Calm down, Lester. They need you.”
Lester looked up... and gasped for the second time in a matter of seconds. A large, teardrop-shaped machine was hovering beside him, covered in intricate designs of white and blue. There was a blank screen on the front – I think that's the front – of the machine, that shifted between white and blue as it spoke.
“Right now, this is what's happening to your hometown. It is succumbing to chaos, conflict. It is beyond saving.”
Lester, tear-struck, stared straight into the screen.
“Who are you? What is this madness?”
The machine turned slightly, facing Lester at an angle.
“Your questions will be answered in due time, Lester, but right now I need you to focus. Your body is currently adapting to its new existence, a process that would take hours at its current rate. However, we don't have hours to work with. That's why I brought you here.”
Lester wiped his eyes, cleared his throat.
“Adapting? What in the Lord's name does that mean?”
There was slight static from the machine.
“As a consequence of Jonah Morae's sudden release of energy into the air around Adoración, and your proximity to him, your body has been elevated to a higher existence. Given enough time, or in your case enough effort, you will develop superhuman abilities.”

Panic. A horrifying thing. You lose control of your own actions, your emotions, and your opinions. You begin to fear life itself, your very existence is a threat. You see things that aren't real, and things that are cease to exist. What once was considered rational becomes impossible, and the things you never thought you would do becomes the only way to survive. To Andrea Morgan, something clicked inside. She realized what she had to do, how she could save her own life, as well as her husband's.
When Ephraim crashed into the stove, he'd sent the frying pan flying across the room. Pieces of scrambled eggs were now spread across the room, and the pan – slightly bent – had landed not far away from her. Now resembling a shovel-head rather than a pan, it was now in the tight grip of her hand. She remembered the day they bought it, and felt very thankful that they had. The attacker was now standing up, and Andrea could see how badly he'd been hurt. The clothes he'd been wearing were burned beyond recognition, and his skin had cracked in several places. She thought she could even see it boil here and there, bubbles moving under the skin. Standing less than seven feet away from her, Ephraim Ford didn't even seem to notice that she'd gotten to her feet. His eyes, his murderous eyes, were locked on something on the floor. John.
She didn't have much time to waste.

John Morgan was prepared to die. Every fiber of his body has accepted his imminent fate. The moment that Ephraim had crawled out of the stove, an image of fear and terror itself, with that horrifying smile plastered to his face, he knew that he wasn't going to make it out of here alive. Andrea would be widowed at thirty-six. Lester would lose his father. They would move out of here; probably back to Andrea's parents. They wouldn't have to move far; they still lived in town. They would avoid this street like the plague. The memories would hurt too much. Eventually, they would move on. Andrea might find someone else, someone to fill the void.
In that moment, he accepted everything. He had lived a good life. He would have liked to keep living it, but if this was where it was going to end, he considered what he had had up until now good enough. He coughed.
“If that's the Lord's will... then I'll-”
He never finished that sentence.
“[b]Get off my husband![/b]”
Andrea was flying. [i]No, she jumped.[/i] She held the frying pan in her right hand, bent so that the rounded edges formed a blunt blade, and swung it. Ephraim couldn't turn his head fast enough.

[i]Thwack.[/i]
Andrea felt the frying pan connect with the side of Ephraim Ford's head. It buried itself in the thin layer of flesh, and struck bone a split second later. She felt it crack beneath her touch as she kept moving through the air, the force of her body pushing Ephraim off-balance. As she landed on the floor, she pulled the pan out. Two cuts, about half an inch wide and two inches long, were visible on the man's head. Casting a glance at the pan, Andrea saw blood and a gray substance. Not thinking much of it, she raised the pan again.
“This is for breaking into our house!”

[i]Thwack. [/i]
Another pair of cuts. Ephraim stumbled, but turned to look at her. She stared into the eyes of fear, and saw his hands moving toward her. She grinned.
“This is for interrupting our breakfast!”
She grabbed the pan with both hands, turned the blunt side to Ephraim, and slammed it down on his face. She could feel his nose break under the metal, see his hands fall to his sides, but kept pushing. She could hear cracking noises, and gradually felt it gave way. She pulled back the pan, and held it firmly in her right hand.

Ephraim saw the world through a red fog. He had lost all feeling in his face, and all sense of direction. He had to force himself to remain on his feet, or else he'd fall down and die right here. What was worse, he was losing faith. The Lord had abandoned him before his mission could even start. It had turned one of his kin against him.
He had considered sparing Andrea. While he didn't see her at church due to his work schedule, he had heard from others that she was truly a saint. She worked to prevent sin, to present the Lord to the younger generation that needed guidance in this turbulent world. He had thought that she would understand. That she would have seen the sign of the Lord in that light, just as he had done. Spitting blood and saliva, he started muttering.
“Why... do you save this sinner, Andrea? Why do you stop the Lord's work?”
Her face, an expression of calm fury and the smile of a mad woman, turned dark.
“[b]And this is for tainting the name of the Lord![/b]”
She raised the pan again, and the red fog clouded Ephraim's vision.
[i]Thwa-[b]splosh.[/b][/i]
It went dark.

Ephraim's skull had been fractured in several places, and the repeated cuts had weakened it even further. In a swing of pure luck, the blade of the pan connected with the weakest of those places, on the side of his head, and the skull gave way.
She kept going.
Neither brain substance nor skin or muscle tissue could stop the brutal force of the metal.
Andrea could see the man's right eye being squished between the broken nose and the curved surface of the frying pan's side. For a moment, it was intact; then it was nothing but a smear of white and a slight tint of purple on the pan.
She kept going.
With Ephraim being taller than her, and the body somehow still standing, she eventually had to bring the pan down. Digging through the gray mass, she brought it closer to her. She saw the man's face start to bulge just above the oral cavity, the remains of the forehead starting to jut out, just before it cracked. A large part of the man's skull flew past her, and Andrea felt still-warm blood splash over her. Finally, the remains of Ephraim Ford, now unrecognizable, fell to the floor.
She kept going.

John was both confused and terrified. The situation had turned in an instant. One moment, Ephraim was leaning over him, about to kill him outright, then Andrea had caught him off-guard. The rest... he couldn't even bear himself to think of it. He had never imagined that his wife – calm, sweet, church-going Andrea – had that kind of ferocity in her. He had seen many things during his years in the Army, both as part of his studies and from his years in Iraq, but this didn't come close to it. This brutality, this madness... he couldn't even imagine it.
Perhaps that is why it happened. Panic can do that to a soul. A soul that sees their lover trapped, and has the means to do so, goes to the fullest extent to protect them.
And, thanks to her, he was safe. Shaken, probably scarred for the rest of his life, but safe. She should be calm now.

However, she hadn't. Her eyes were still overflowing with madness, pure fury, and she still had the frying pan in her right hand. The pan, still covered in a mush of red and gray, moved far too fast for him to be able to see it. Time after time it came down on the beaten body of Ephraim, breaking bone after bone and reducing it to a pile of flesh. She was losing it.
“Andrea! Andrea, stop!”

She heard his voice as if from a distant, half-forgotten dream. Through blood-stained eyes, she could only see Ephraim. The man that had dared to break into their house. The man that had claimed to do the Lord's work when he tried to kill her husband. The man that had brought shame to their church, and to His name. It was because of people like him that they were fighting a losing battle. Atrocities committed on behalf of the Lord. She wanted to spit on him, send him to the endless flames of Hell where he belonged, but this would have to do.
[i]Andrea! Andrea, stop![/i]
What was that? She paused for a moment, frying pan buried in what had once been Ephraim Ford's ribcage. She looked down, and saw the full extent of what she had done. Minced meat. That's what it reminded her of. She had worked her way from the head down, and most of Ephraim Ford's upper body had been reduced to minced meat. The floor was covered in blood and severed muscle tissue.
[i]This isn't right. It's not the answer, Andrea.[/i]
Who was that? Was it God? Yes, it must be. God spoke to her, and the Lord's words told her to stop. She dropped the frying pan, which rang loudly through the house, and began to cry. Soon, she felt John's arms around her. For now, they had survived.
[/spoiler]

[Bahamut - Envoy of the End]

NEW READER FOR YOU.

Read the first two chapters, thought they were very good contents wise, but the formatting withwords stuck together likethis at random intervals gotannoying somewhat.

Haven't read the original, but this still looks amazing already.

[Umbra]

The formatting should now be fixed.

Thank you for your comment, and I hope you enjoy reading the rest of the story as well.

EDIT: I just noticed that the "prologue", though it's technically an interlude, was lost in editing. It is now back up.

Not to mention that we now finally have a duel! Chapter 5 has now been posted.

[spoiler=Chapter 12: Deus Ex Machina]
[right][i]It's only in my dreams that I can change the world.
[/i][/right]
Matthew Freeborn fell to the ground. Dryad's second arrow had hit him straight in the chest, a relatively simple task at point-blank range, breaking his ribcage and puncturing his lungs before it detonated. His upper body was only connected to his abdomen by a few strands of muscle tissue. There was no mistaking it; the man was dead. At that moment, Kyaran was thankful that Elvira had retreated... although the process still intrigued him. The very fact that Dryad was not only able to seize control of Elvira's body, but use it to channel her own power to the extent she had demonstrated... Kyaran found it nothing short of incredible. He and Jonah had more of a connection, a emotional bond, but in the end it didn't help either of them out. Jonah's greatest flaw was that he had no control over his powers once he let them go; he didn't have the finesse that Dryad had. It had gotten him into trouble before, but... [i]Not like this. Nothing like this.[/i]
Holding the unconscious Jonah in his hands, he could feel the boy's breathing. He was going to make it, if they gave him enough time to rest. Other than life, though, there was nothing. Kyaran couldn't feel even a speck of power in him. He looked at Dryad.
“What's happened to him?”
Dryad shook her head, moving Elvira Jackson's head accordingly. They were both smiling.
“I guess you've never seen exhaustion before.”
Now that the place was relatively calm, Kyaran could hear the full range of her voice – or voices, as it were. Dryad and Elvira spoke in unison.
“You young spirits, so unaware of the true boundaries of power – and how they can be broken. Your boy here surpassed a boundary, and he couldn't take it. I used to see it happen all the time.”
Kyaran nodded – and something struck his mind.
“[i]Young[/i] spirit? My grandfather was none other than the Tormentor himself!”
At this, Dryad and Elvira merely snickered. Kyaran frowned, but didn't otherwise respond. Their smiles widened.
“Don't think this woman a fool, Kyaran. I recognized you and your boy as heirs of the Tormentor the moment the barrier came down. Obelisk was a good man, even before he became one of us, but he was always too trusting.”
Kyaran couldn't exactly connect what he was hearing with the life he remembered, leaving a rather dumbfounded look on his face. Dryad, noticing it, continued.
“He probably told you something else, didn't he? An epic tale of how he shaped the world, or perhaps all of the worlds, even? Some struggle against another one of us... the Dreadroot, probably, given how things turned out.”
They smiled again.
“They always do that, the younger ones. Especially the men.”
Kyaran was about to speak, but was hushed by both human and spirit hands.
“I know you have questions, Kyaran, but there will be a time for explanations later. Chaos stirs in this place; we will have to seek a haven.”
Kyaran looked from Dryad to Elvira, and back.
“I'm not going anywhere without Jonah. Someone has to-”
Dryad snapped Elvira's fingers, and suddenly Jonah was as light as a feather in Kyaran's arms. He blinked. She only shook her head.
“I will take you to a safe place. However, we have one more stop to make before we travel. The girl wants to save her family.”
Somewhere in the distance, a scream could be heard. Then, an explosion. Streaks of smoke rose into the midday air.

Invisible to all of them, Lester and the strange machine was hovering above. They had traced through the town, trying to find the source of this catastrophe... though Lester already knew where to look. He suspected that the machine knew as well; they arrived at the scene in practically no time. Hironima's lawn looked very different from the last time Lester saw it, about two hours earlier; the grass and the nearby buildings had taken on a strong, blue tint, and there was a dead man lying there. Somehow, Lester didn't pay that much thought. The barrier was most definitely gone, and there was no trace of their opponent, Versago.
[i]Where'd he go? On a second thought, what is he?[/i]
“I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that, Lester.”
The boy turned his head. Somehow it didn't surprise him at all that the machine had read his thoughts. This was his dream, after all; they were probably floating around in here somewhere. A machine that sophisticated could probably pick them up with ease. The fact that it was even here in the first place showed it was something out of the ordinary.
“Versago is unlike anything that has ever walked this earth. I can't tell you more than you already know.”
It turned down slightly.
“There may be someone else who knows, though.”
Lester looked down – and noticed a new actor on stage. He recognized Elvira well enough, although he had no idea exactly why she was here, but the woman, seemingly floating in mid-air was unfamiliar to him. She radiated energy; not with a flame, like Kyaran, but with the soft glow of a far-away star. It didn't take him much brainpower to figure out that she was some sort of angel, or a spirit. The machine continued.
“Her name is Dryad, and she is here to help. She's powerful, far stronger than what you will be once we are finished here, but she is on our side.”
Lester frowned.
“How do you know all this? Who are you?”
For a second, the machine did not respond. The silence between them was only interrupted by the sounds of chaos in the town – sounds that, to Lester, sounded very far away.
“I am dead. Dead men tell no tales, Lester Morgan, but they hear all of them. I could tell you everything, but I will not. Not until you have finished your training. This is only the first step.”
The machine made a full ninety-degree turn, facing Lester, and before his eyes it changed shape. The top of the teardrop slid forward over the front, covering the screen but revealing an almost perfectly square opening. Then, to Lester's surprise, an arm emerged from the machine.

Andrea Morgan didn't regret what she had done. Even now, when she had calmed down slightly, she knew that what she had done was required of her. If it hadn't happened, they'd both be dead. They were in the living room now, John's arms around her shoulders. She stared into the empty air. Was that God's voice? Had He spoken to her? [i]Violence isn't the answer. Murder isn't the answer.[/i] Well, perhaps not to every question. Sometimes, you had to do what you had to do. This place wasn't safe anymore. Without turning her head, she spoke.
“Could you go wake Lester up, John?”
He looked at her.
“I could. What about you?”
She shook her head.
“I'll be fine. Go, go.”
He sighed, and let go of her. For a moment, feeling the warmth of his arms leaving her, she regretted it.
“If you say so. I'll wake him up, and then we'll... clean up in the kitchen. We need to get the [i]hell[/i] out of here.”
Andrea nodded, and leaned back.
“Just make sure Lester doesn't see him. He's been through enough already.”
She, too, felt that she had been through enough. This event's mornings' felt like a horrible nightmare; she half expected to wake up, cold sweat drizzling down her back and her heart beating with fear. The other half refused to believe what was going on. It seemed like something out of a horror movie, or one of those books she'd forbidden Lester from reading. This didn't happen. People didn't turn insane out of nowhere.

The arm was shortly followed by another, grabbing hold of the machine's exterior and pulling up. It wasn't just a pair of arms that climbed out; it was the entire upper body of a man. Lester didn't recognize him, but he could tell that he would have if he had seen him somewhere. The man was thin, very pale, and had large bags under his light blue eyes. His hair might once have been blonde, but had now faded to a light gray with only streaks of its former color remaining. He nodded at Lester.
“Shapechanging is never pleasant, Lester, but I thought you deserved something less alien.”
He raised his left arm to his chest, and suddenly he was wearing a Duel Generator. Lester looked down, and found one on his wrist as well, already loaded with a deck. He took it out, and looked it through. It was the exact deck he had built online, at Virtual Duel Monsters – the deck of his dreams. [i]Literally.[/i] The man smiled.
“How appropriate. This card game shall be your test, Lester. Defeat me, and you will gain understanding.”
Lester put the deck back in the Generator, and nodded.
“Fine, I'll play, if it means you'll tell me what's going on.”
He drew five cards. The man nodded, and did the same.
“Hopefully, by the end of this duel, I won't have to tell you. You can take the first turn.”
Lester drew a sixth card.
[font=Courier New][center]
Lester Morgan
4000 LP
[µ]
4000 LP
[/center][/font]
His opening hand wasn't too bad. It could've been better, of course, but sometimes you just had to take what you got and make the best of it.
“I summon T. G. Cyber Magician!”
The monster that sprung forth from thin air in a surge of brilliant light was but a boy; dressed in a light blue robe with large golden shoulder ornaments, a black cape and a three-point wizard's hat, it wasn't a very impressive sight. [font=Courier New][center]
T.G. Cyber Magician
ATK: 0
DEF: 0
[/center][/font]
Not yet, at least. Lester continued.
“Cyber Magician's effect lets me use T.G. Monsters in my hand for a Synchro Summon, as long as it's for a T.G. Synchro. I tune Cyber Magician to the T.G. Rush Rhino in my hand!”
He picked up the two cards, and placed them in the Graveyard. The boy wizard leaped into the air, raising its hands to the sky. One by one, four stars appeared between his hands, and circled around him with ever-increasing speed. Lester nodded, and the stars lit up.
“[i]The tomes of knowledge will lead the path to a new future! Let the genius of the mind come forth![/i] Synchro Summon! T.G. Hyper Librarian!
As the stars lit up, the wizard changed. He grew taller, and his traditional hat changed into one of more military style. The robe changed in an instant, now white with black features and golden linings. As a final touch, a white book with an eerie symbol appeared in his hands.
[font=Courier New][center]
T.G. Hyper Librarian
ATK: 2400
DEF: 1800
[/center][/font]
Lester looked at his field, then back at his hand.
“I set two cards face-down. Your turn.”
His opponent nodded, and drew a card. Lester once again wondered who or what this man-machine was; maybe his deck would provide some insight.
“I activate the effect of Quick Synchron. By discarding the Bolt Hedgehog in my hand, I can Special Summon it.”
[i]A Quick deck?[/i] He had seen many of them on VMD, but had only been up against a few. As far as he could remember, he had gone roughly fifty-fifty. As such, he knew exactly what his opponent's next move was going to be. He would bring back the Bolt Hedgehog, and then Synchro Summon. As the familiar gunslinger android, complete with the hat and the scarf, appeared on the field, Lester's opponent touched his Graveyard.
“Through Bolt Hedgehog's effect, I revive it.”
The tiny rodent appeared on the field, screws and bolts sticking out on both sides of its body. Lester nodded. [i]Here it comes![/i]
“Then, I Normal Summon Level Stealer.”
A small, orange insect with a yellow star appeared on the field in a flicker of yellow light. For the second time in a matter of seconds, Lester was surprised. A Level 7 Synchro had far more options in a Quick deck; for Level 8, there were only a few. The man smiled.
“You must be wondering what I'm doing, Lester, with that look on your face. You need to learn to face the unexpected. I tune Quick Synchron to Bolt Hedgehog and Level Stealer.”
Not wasting a moment, Quick Synchron drew its gun and fired at the two monsters. As the bullets connected, the rodent and the bug exploded, leaving behind three glowing orbs. The orbs took off immediately, entering the gunslinger's body and flooding the entire field in waves of brilliant light and the crackling of thunder. Lester could barely hear the man's voice as he chanted.
“[i]The path leading to the future is paved with sacrifices. Walk where the streets have no name[/i]! Synchro Summon! Road Warrior!”
As the light faded away, temporarily blinding Lester, a very impressive warrior was revealed on his opponent's field. Clad entirely in gold and black armor, and with not only one but two swords on its back, the sight of it was intimidating.
[font=Courier New][center]
Road Warrior
ATK: 3000
DEF: 1500
[/center][/font]
Lester could feel the hairs on his back and arms stand on end.
“Hyper Librarian's effect activates, letting me draw a card.”
He did, and smiled. [i]That will be useful later.[/i]
“You need to work on your pokerface, Lester.”
He looked up. The man was smiling back at him. [i]He can read me like a book, can't he?[/i]
“My turn's not over yet. Road Warrior, attack Hyper Librarian!”
Lester looked down at his Duel Generator; the two traps he had set were useless against this assault. He hadn't expected his opponent to summon something strong enough to take down Hyper Librarian in a single turn. The golden warrior unsheathed its two weapons, and charged at Lester's monster. The wizard put up a good fight, but was in the end savagely beaten by the warrior. Lester felt a sting of pain in his wrist.
[font=Courier New][center]
Lester Morgan
LP: 3400 / 4000 [-600]
[/center][/font]
The man nodded.
“I use Road Warrior's effect to summon Speed Warrior from my Deck. Then, I end my turn.”
A slim, mechanical humanoid appeared at Road Warrior's side. [900/600] Lester shook his head.
“You may have taken out my monster, but this isn't over yet.”
He drew a card – and sighed. Not what he needed. He couldn't turn the game around yet... but there was still time. He placed a card on the field.
“When you control a monster, and I don't, I can Special Summon T.G. Striker from my hand.”
In response, a human wearing a black suit of cybernetic armor with gray ornaments appeared on Lester's field in an explosion of flames.
[font=Courier New][center]
T.G. Striker
800 / 0
[/center][/font]
Not wasting a second, Lester placed another card on the field.
“With its effect, I Special Summon T.G. Warwolf.”
Next to the warrior, a more feral monster appeared; a brown-furred, wolf-like creature standing on its hind legs. Its left arm was replaced with a metallic claw of blue and gray designs, and two brass bands were strapped around its thigh. Looking at the impressive Road Warrior across the field, the monster roared.
[font=Courier New][center]
T.G. Warwolf
1200 / 0
[/center][/font]
Lester nodded, and was about to make his next move, when his opponent reached for his face-down card.
“I activate a Trap, Hidden-”
As he turned it face-up, Lester saw a sudden look of surprise in his eyes.
“Oh. Nevermind. Go on.”
Lester, confounded for a second, shook his head and looked at his field. He could Synchro Summon now, bringing out a monster strong enough to take down Speed Warrior and deal some serious damage, or he could summon more monsters. He didn't have that many options, though, and Road Warrior would still be standing in his way no matter what he did.
“I tune T.G. Striker to T.G. Warwolf.”
The two monsters jumped into the air, and exploded in a storm of fire and wind. Five fireballs emerged from the inferno, and started to circle around it.
“[i]When all else falls, let loose the dogs of war![/i] Synchro Summon! T.G. Power Gladiator!”
He wasn't sure where to go from here, but he felt a sudden burst of-
[i]Haah![/i]
He felt as if all air had been sucked of his lungs. Gasping for breath, he fell to his knees. Just as everything turned black, he saw the machine-man come closer to him. Lester couldn't really tell, but was he... [i]smiling?[/i]

John Morgan couldn't help but to smile when he opened the door to Lester's room. The boy had been sleeping through all of this... madness. Yes, that was the right word for it. Madness. John knew that he would eventually process today's events, but right now nothing made any sense whatsoever. This would go down in history as one of the worst mornings of all time, he was sure. The room was fairly dark, with only a few beams of sunlight breaking through the blinds, but John didn't need sunlight to find his way in the room he'd bought most of the furniture for. He walked over to the bedside and took a moment just looking down at his son. There was something about the expression on his face that brought John peace. The sleeping child had no worries, no regrets and nothing to feel sorry for. He was calm, serene, and... sparkling.

A single beam of light that pierced through the blinds hit Lester's closed eyes, and cast a many-colored light on the opposite wall. [i]That's odd.[/i] John knelt down, looking closer at Lester's face... and gasped. [i]No.[/i] A thin layer of purple-tinted crystals covered his eyelids – the same purple hue he had seen only minutes before in Ephraim Ford's eyes. [i]No.[/i] Whatever had turned their neighbor into a monster was now working its way through Lester's body. A horrible thought crossed John's mind, but a thought that seemed more and more passable as the minutes went by. A thought that turned into a plan. It would be painless, both for him and for them. If they waited, he could turn on them just as easily as Ephraim had. John envisioned his son as a fierce animal, the same beastly fury raging on behind his eyes. Would they be able to fight him? John didn't think so. The only reason Andrea did what she did – the brutality of which was just now beginning to dawn on him – was to protect Lester from harm. [i]Protect both of us, even.[/i] She wouldn't be able to do that if Lester was the enemy. He sighed, and carefully pulled Lester's pillow out from beneath him. The boy's head landed on the mattress with a gentle thud.
[i]I hope you forgive me in Heaven, Lester.[/i]
[/spoiler]

[Umbra]

I suppose a bump is good, too. (Really should've done this with the new chapter.)

[spoiler=Chapter 13: Desperate Measures]

The machine, as a matter of fact, was not smiling. What Lester had seen was merely the contraction of his face before it erupted in terrified shock. [i]This[/i], he thought, [i]wasn't supposed to happen.[/i] Something was interfering with Lester's concentration... possibly even his life. He couldn't let that happen. If his predictions were right (which they were, more often than not), this boy would turn out to be crucial to their success. The machine had put far too much effort into this, too much time, for it to fail on some sort of invasion. The boy would not die. Not today.
”Fight back, Lester! For all that is holy, fight back!”

His words came to Lester as from a dream, behind the fog of war and confusion that surged through his mind... the only thing that surged through him. He still felt drained of all air, as if his lungs had suddenly decided to turn on him
([i]You're on your own now, Les, we're off to someplace warmer[/i])
when he needed them the most. If there was any doubt in Lester that this was an ordinary dream, that was gone now. He could easily have dreamed up the floating machine... probably something from those bad science-fiction movies his dad used to watch when Lester was just a kid. The two of them playing Duel Monsters of all things wasn't such a shock; the game occupied a lot of his spare time, more so than he cared to admit. Elvira being there didn't surprise him either – one way or another, she'd found her way into most of his dreams lately - but this... if this was a normal dream, he would have woken up by now. This sort of pain, this horror, didn't leave him sleeping.
[i]Fight back, Lester, fight back![/i]
Fight? How could he fight? There was nothing there!
Except that there was.

John couldn't bear himself to listen anymore. Lester's breath, slightly muffled by the cotton/polyester pillow, had slowed down to a whiff. The first minute had been the worst; the boy, in his sleep, had desperately gasped for breath, his rapid inhalations so loud that John feared that Andrea would hear him. Some rational thought had connected – what am I going to tell Andrea when she finds out that he's dead? - but soon enough, that thought was gone, too.
She would understand, wouldn't she? She had seen Ephraim, the madness behind his eyes that drove him to what he did... breaking down the door of the house and hunting them down. They may not even have been the first of his victims; for all John knew, Linda McCallister from next door, the young woman with the army husband, could be lying dead on her kitchen floor, her pan of potatoes or whatever she ate for breakfast still puttering on her stove because there was no one there to save her. They did a great thing, putting Ephraim out before he could take another life. And now, the same thing was happening to Lester. Our son. My so-
He didn't let himself finish that thought. It would only have made things harder. Andrea would understand. Heck, she'd killed the man; she would understand better than anyone. Would she want Lester to go down the same route? A mad man, little more than a doomsayer and a beast. He had to be... put down. Like a rabid dog. [i]Like Ephraim.[/i] John wasn't a trained paramedic - or a psychic, for that matter - but he could tell. Death was close at hand.

[i]A face in the mist.[/i]
That was what it was. Somehow, in the fog of confusion that surrounded him, Lester had seen a face. [i]I can't forget the time or place, and we'd just met.[/i] He would have smiled, if he'd had the willpower to. While its features were still unclear, shifting in the currents of the wind, the face seemed eerily familiar to Lester. He had looked at it before. In his mind, only one identity burst through.
“Versago! Begone!”
And, as if summoned by a bell, the otherworldly shadow emerged from the fog.

They did not bother with taking the car, seeing as none of them could operate it. Elvira still hadn't passed her test, and the two spirits lacked the skills to do so. Nonetheless, the Morgan residence wasn't too far from where they were, given that Adoración was a small town to begin with, so walking wasn't an issue. Here, the spirits proved more helpful; with Dryad's aid, Elvira's body strode down the streets as if on the wings of angels. Elvira's mind, on the other hand, was elsewhere. She was observing the madness occurring around them. The spirits didn't seem to care much, and someone had to. The rising pillar of smoke somewhere near the center of town didn't make her comfortable, nor did the distant sound of roars around the place. Just yesterday, this had been a peaceful town, a little hamlet off the map where nothing ever happened. Now... it was hell on earth. The old man that had thrown himself in front of uncle Matty ([i]except that he's not Uncle Matty anymore, sweetie, he's dead as a doornail, and you killed him, that's the most wonderful part of it all[/i]) to save her life, what was his name? [i]Douglas? Ryan? No, it was something in Spanish.[/i] She couldn't remember. He had died for her, to buy her a few seconds of time, so that she could save her own life. One life for another.
[i]No. There has to be more.[/i]
That was the thought she had relayed to Dryad the minutes before. While Elvira suspected that the ageless Queen of the Elements couldn't understand death, not in the same way the mortal humans did, but when Elvira explained that, as her life was saved by the sacrifice of another, she too must save someone, the spirit agreed with surprising readiness and alertness. In the three years the three of them – Elvira, Karen and Dryad – had known each other, the spirit had been distant, only appearing in times of great need. They had never met in the flesh (so to speak) for more than a few seconds at a time, but they had talked.

Dryad had taken some time to explain her existence. [I]You deserve to know,[/i] she had said. She called herself a Primordial, a divine entity that had been granted an immeasurable amount of power by – something greater – something older – Elysium –

hundreds of images flew into the twins' minds; a court of thousands, others like Dryad, these Primordials, standing in circles with their arms raised into the air. There were titanic men armed with fiery swords, alluring women wielding firearms and scepters, and other creatures, things that were neither man nor woman but beast, dragons and gigantic birds with their wings set aflame, beings both angelic and demonic in nature. The twins quickly understood that they were watching something that occurred a long time ago; perhaps even before time itself. Among them, two seemed to stand out from the rest, standing on opposite sides of the circle; two men, one in blue armor and one in green and gray, who seemed to have developed some sort of personal vendetta.
[i]Hope they never got anywhere with that. Could get dangerous.[/i]
To their left and right, these circles seemed to continue into eternity. Dryad was standing in a different circle, with a skeleton wearing red robes and a richly ornamented headband on her left and an angel-winged creature with thin arms, dressed in skin-tight black leather with a thick fluff of white hair covering her eyes on her right. Their hands were raised into the air, and their eyes were locked on a place near the center of the circle. No, not a place. The greater – older – Elysium was standing in the middle. A woman of serene, unthinkable, indescribable beauty, adorning a dark purple robe with green linings and red, feathery shoulder ornaments. Atop her head sat a gown of similar colors, and in her right hand she held a staff almost as long as herself. Her blonde hair almost reached down to her knees, a considerable length in its own but made far more impressive by her stature, as the woman stood at least eight feet tall, if not more. Her voice, which rang as silver bells in a summer night, spoke in their mind.
[i]You have been chosen to preserve My will in this world and many others, and in the Great Dark that bridges the gap between them. This mission will be difficult, and will require full dedication from you. Your old life will be taken away. You will forget everything you knew before entering this room. If you accept this, you will become one of the most powerful beings in existence. Do you accept?[/i]
The Yes that resounded throughout the room was incredible. Karen and Elvira understood that the others had spoken to their chosen ones as well, probably in slightly different words. The woman in front of them nodded.
[i]Then go.[/i]
With that, the images had faded to white. Dryad hadn't revealed the rest of her story; that, she had said, was a story for another time. The sisters agreed; they had definitely had enough for one night.

The nine-foot shape of Versago, now revealed to Lester in all of its unholiness, stood before him. It looked just as he had imagined it; the only defined features he could see was the shape of the humanoid body; the rest was nothing but a black shadow, a nothing among the something.
[i]You have drawn my attention, little child. Perhaps you will prove useful.[/i]
Lester shook his head, desperately gasping for breath.
“Begone, Versago! Return... to the pits of... Hell where you belong!”
To his surprise – or was he really surprised? Afterward, he couldn't really tell – Versago laughed.
[i]Hell? I am not a creature of Hell or Heaven, I serve neither the Invoker or the Accuser, or those who bestowed upon them their power. You knew that, Lester.[/i]
Of course he did. Versago was out of their world, or any other world he had heard of, from scripture or otherwise. ([i]Doesn't he sound familiar, though? Someone you know?[/i] He dismissed the thought.)And now, the thing was in his head, trying to kill him.
“Get away from me!”
He lashed out his hand at Versago, and without warning his words resonated from one world to another.

John would later describe what had happened as divine intervention, to those that were still listening to him after hearing about him trying to choke his son. Lester would have said, if the two were on speaking terms, that he knew better, but he wouldn't be sure. After everything that happened to him that morning – meeting with Jonah and the mysterious machine that he would later learn the name of – he wasn't sure if it really was God's work anymore.
Perhaps they had interfered. Jonah's allies, whoever they were.
[i]Perhaps,[/i] he would think, [i]it was all me.[/i]
He didn't have any control over the shock-wave of unfettered energy that was released from every pore of his body, knocking his father to the floor and sending the polyester/cotton pillow flying in a straight arc, crashing into the blinds and breaking some of them. The blanket flew off his bed, and landed atop a drawer on the opposite wall. Lester, of course, saw nothing. At that point, the crystals had found their way through the boy's eyelids and the whites of his eyes, severing his optic nerves. His eyes would never see anything again... however, it would only take a matter of minutes before he would regain his sight. In the otherworld, that was.

The otherworld was the only way he could describe his existence as a spirit. It was the term that first appeared in his head after his fist connected with Versago – whose right arm, Lester could see now, was severed at the wrist – and the being was split in half. [i]This can't be happening. This isn't real. This is an other world.[/i] Versago, whom with the powerful – [i]blessed[/i] had been Diego Rodriguez' word - Jonah had fought for hours, had been defeated in a single punch. The creature shrieked out in pain, a scream so loud it seemed to shatter existence by itself, and its shape started to contort and twist in a million different directions. A wave, a blast, an unfound path, and Versago was gone.

The machine had watched this struggle – which lasted no more than a few seconds, half a minute tops – with ever-growing interest and, at the end, surprise. He had estimated the scope of Lester's ability, what exactly he would be able to do and not do, but he had now reached that limit and surpassed it. He could practically feel the strands of power wrap themselves around the boy as he learned what he was capable of, but it would be a very loose connection if anything. Nonetheless, this interference was to be considered. Whether or not Versago was actually destroyed, he couldn't be sure, but for the moment he was out of their way. Something had happened to Lester, though, something that suggested outside interference. Though the machine had his suspicions about what happened, he didn't have the time to find out. Adoración was escalating out of their control, and they couldn't afford to waste another moment.

The boy climbed out of bed, as fully dressed as they'd left him there, and turned to face the door. His eyes were still closed, but John Morgan suspected that if his son could see him those eyes would run with tears and disappointment. He wouldn't understand, not yet, what had driven him to do the horrible thing or how much he regretted it. Nonetheless, he had to explain. Suddenly, familiar words rang in his head
(We need to get the hell out of here)
and he cleared his throat.
“Les, are you alright?”
The boy turned his head so rapidly that John heard the sharp twitch of his neck. To him, it sounded like the crack of a whip.
“Dad? Is that-”
The boy stopped, mid-sentence. John suddenly felt as if he was being watched. And, as a matter of fact, he was.

On their way back through the roads of Adoración, Lester and the machine passed over Elvira and the two spirits. The boy turned to face his mechanical companion, still in the awkward human-cybernetic hybrid form, and nodded down.
“How come they can't see us?”
The machine shook his head.
“There is much for you to learn, Lester, more than I could possibly say here, but I will tell you this. We are separate from the world of the living, separate from their world. This world is a distant echo of their world, a clone or a copy, if you may. In this world, we can alter the course of history, change events that have passed or events that will eventually come to pass. However, for most of us, those changes do not affect the real world in the slightest. Call it a test chamber, if you may. We can try out things that may or may not work in reality, and see what works and what doesn't. If we stray too far from reality, however, all of our changes come undone and the world becomes as it was before.”
He pointed at Lester with an arm that was not entirely human; the boy could hear the creak of barely-oiled machinery as the elbow turned.
“You, however, are different. If my calculations are correct, you can cross the boundary between this world and their world, changing reality as you see fit. I believe you have already taken the first step to accomplishing that level of power. This domain holds whatever need it to. You can create it at your leisure, and with the right training you can bring that into the real world.”
They stopped, and Lester was not at all surprised that they were right outside his house. He couldn't think straight; his mind was bloated with information to the point where he didn't even notice the broken-down door. Something was processed in his mind, though. Deciding not to put too much thought into anything else for now
([i]oh God I can do whatever I want[/i])
he followed that trail of thought.
“If... this world is mine, then what happened to me?”
The machine shrugged, and lied.
“I'm not sure. If anything, your physical body must have been affected.”
As a matter of fact, the machine had already picked up the trailing thoughts of John Morgan and what happened in Lester's room. However, he decided not to tell him; he had to see that for himself. Nodding, Lester drifted down to his window, and entered the room.

It was an interesting and somewhat mind-bending experience to see your own body lying on your bed, unmoving. So transfixed by his own appearance, he tried to see if he could make his body move. With a single thought, the Lester on the bed
([i]I really look horrible, don't I?[/i])
sat up. Lester smiled at the sensation when he heard an all-too familiar voice.
“Les, are you alright?”
He turned his head (and, without his notice, his body did the same) toward the door. His dad was standing there, staring at Lester's body and looking utterly terrified. Lester couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his dad that scared (incidentally, the last time he was that scared was earlier this morning, less than half an hour ago, but that's beside the point) and that frightened him, to say the least. The splattered red stain on the front of his otherwise white shirt didn't exactly help.
“Dad? ([i]Oh God, that sounds strange[/i], Lester thought, hearing that lump of flesh that he still thought of as his body on the bed speak in unison with himself) “Is that-”
[i]See.[/i]
Lester would have finished that sentence with [i]Is that blood on your shirt[/i] if his mind hadn't been flooded with words – memories, he realized, but not memories of his own. His father's. The name Ephraim appeared often, as did phrases such as [i]I do what I have to do[/i] and [i]She will understand[/i] and [i]put down like a rabid dog.[/i] Lester's eyes fell on the pillow, now lying on the floor beneath the window he had carelessly drifted through. The words changed into lines, retracing the events that transpired just before Lester's arrival. He felt as if he watched a VCR in REW mode, seeing time go backwards before his eyes. The pillow took off from the ground, bouncing off the swiftly self-repairing blinds until it landed on his body's face, and his father – who had by now lain down on the floor – jumped to his feet and held the pillow in place. Something connected in his head; the way that Versago's voice had sounded familiar in the otherworld, this voice of the damned and the wicked. His father's voice had been among them, not as one in the crowd but as the director and the speaker, the voice that directed the others.
[i]He tried to kill me.[/i]
Another memory trailed into his mind as he saw his body radiate with energy, a blue-colored light not at all unlike the one that was unleashed upon the town only hours before. [i]Death is close at hand. Well, I guess you were right about that.[/i]

[spoiler=A challenge for y'all.]
The Primordial Court holds a few familiar figures from the world of Duel Monsters; name them, and I'll throw in a few reps where deserved.
[/spoiler]
[/spoiler]

[Vector Nightmare]

I read the two newest chapters, up until the start of the duel. There's also a formatting problem there (an extra white space in a closing tag), which kind of ruined its smooth readability. I'd rather wait to read that part when it is corrected.

I think you're sort of trying too hard with Diego's character. He is almost all fluff, no essence as of now. He's like those walking stereotypes that you usually see in movies which serve absolutely no other purpose than to earn a giggle from the viewers and draw their attention. Well, not that bad, but for a guy who hasn't done anything remotely essential to the plot (he might not have been there, and not much would be different), he has received too much exposition. There should be a balance between importance and exposition, I believe, so that the readers can better relate. Compare to Lester, who is at just the right place at the moment.

Moving on... ouch. Jonah has some interesting powers but... what a way to be reunited with his father. This is where the story starts tying in to the original, and I really like it. Jonah starts showing some teeth, but Versago still seems to be many steps ahead. Perhaps Richard was kicked into the story a little too early / forcefully. Or actually, it depends whether you view this story as a direct continuation, or a semi-stand-alone sequel. Still, for a plot point that had been hanging for so long, it was just a tad abrupt to me.

I'm very curious to see what else Jonah will demonstrate, as well as more of Versago's tricks.

[Umbra]

[spoiler=Original post]The formatting problem in question should be taken care of. With Chapter 5, however, I broke the word count. It can be found in Post #3, with a link provided in the first post.

Diego's ties to the story right now may seem vague, but I assure you he has relevance. I don't choose last names without precise care, and this isn't the first time you have met a Rodriguez - especially not with Hironima involved. In addition, Lester would definitely be worse off right now hadn't it been for him. He might still have been throwing up on the ground, or perhaps that would have annoyed Versago too much. You never know with an author that can kill a character by turning his face into a flock of spiders.

I won't reveal the full extent of Richard's existence just yet, but suffice to say that there's more to him than it seems. Or less, depending on how you see it. Consider it the latter. It may have been abrupt, but there will be details in forthcoming chapters that explain exactly why Richard is there. Consider what Versago has done so far, exactly how the other characters have reacted to seeing him.
[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Chapter 14: Those Less Fortunate]

[center]Prelude[/center]

Sometimes, it is important to see the world from a different point of view, to better understand exactly what is going on around you. It could be as simple as taking a different route home from work, or talking to someone new at a party. Either way, you break the circuit of your daily life and get out of your comfort zone, and you'll probably grow as a person. On the other hand, you might not. That's the power of uncertainty, of chaos.

Chaos is both a wonderful and horrifying thing. It's what makes us all different, with random choice selecting two individuals from two different places in the world, two different upbringings, to become our parents. The genes we inherit from them are also selected at random, with some weighting due to dominance among them. The traits that we gain over the course of our lifetimes are also due to random chance; our parents' personalities, the area we grow up in, and the people we choose to spend our time with. You could just as easily have been someone else.

The events that have taken place over the last few hours, as we have been following Jonah and his friends, have been truly fantastic and otherworldly. Creatures from a world beyond our own – the alien Versago and the ancient, mysterious Dryad, both of which will reveal their secrets in due time as nothing is exempt from chaos, not even their resolve – have entered their lives and, in the case of the Jackson twins, elevated them beyond what we could possibly call “normal”. The catastrophe which followed Jonah's duel against Versago is currently affecting the town of Adoración, as we have seen most notably in Ephraim Ford's outrageous burst, as well as the Morgans' violent reactions to and actions in the following minutes. We have seen traces of other activities around the town, pieces of random destruction and riots from streets beyond our field of vision.

We shall leave our friends for now, and let them handle their own problems. After all, Adoración is a very diverse place, especially now, and there are certain things you should know here that Jonah and his friends may not. Adoración is a cradle of unequaled destruction, spreading corruption not only of the body but of the mind as well, but as all cradles do it holds new, uncertain life. While all life ends in chaos, the decay of death, some life has now sprung from it.

This is the story of those less fortunate.
[center][font=Courier New]
The White-Haired Boy
[/font][/center]
It was a beautiful day in Adoración, California. Piper Dureau, however, wasn't feeling that well. Of course, she was unaware that Karen Jackson, Melanie Freeborn and about five other girls under the age of seventeen in the greater Adoración area, including the nearby towns of Santa Clariña and Valmoro Plains as well as the suburbs to the larger city of Anabel, had had very similar, disturbing dreams the night before. While the details may differ (for Sandra Elusian, age 8, the sky was clear and populated mostly by birds with burning feathers, while twelve-year-old Nora Philbury saw stormy clouds, raining down ice-cold water and small pebbles), the dream, in general, was the same: They were standing outside a house (their own if they had one; for Melissa Jennings, thirteen and daughter of none, it was the back alley of the supermarket in Valmoro Plains, where she usually slept) and there was a crack in the wall.

It was no ordinary crack, obviously; it wouldn't appear in their dreams if it were. Normally, one would expect a crack in a wall to give way to the material beneath, be it concrete, wood or stone. If the crack was deep enough, it would break through and reveal what was hidden behind it. This, however, was not the case. This crack looked barely quarter of an inch deep, but what lay beneath it... was truly horrifying. A twisting darkness that seemed so black, so impenetrable, that none of the girls could bear to look at it even more than a few seconds. Even so, there were lights in this darkness, lights beyond this darkness with colors none of them could describe. There were words, as well: “Versago”, “Alestra” and “dead” were the most common (although none of them knew that, of course), while only Melissa Jennings heard “The war god lies in the shadow of the tower” and Melanie Freeborn clearly heard “The voices of the old speak only lies”.

The words quickly escalated into a chorus in the nothingness, a chorus that resonated with a thousand voices. Had Jonah and his friends listened, or heard, they would have found it awfully familiar to Versago. That is no mere coincidence; Versago's appearance in the physical domain, this Great Dark between the worlds, was not as sudden as it may seem. However, there will be more on that later. For now, let us return to Piper Dureau. She is, after all, the center of this story.

Do you know how old she is? I suppose you don't, seeing as you've never met her. She's actually turning five today. Isn't that funny, by the way? Piper was born on October twenty-second, 2005, and spent the first five years of her life rather happy. Up until this very moment, you didn't know that. To you, there was no Piper Dureau. Now, there is. But enough of that.

“Happy birthday, sweetie!”
Although it wasn't a happy day for Piper Dureau, thanks to the aforementioned dream, she still blew out the candles. Turning five was apparently a big deal in the Dureau family, currently inhabiting the one of the few two-story in Adoración with a balcony (incidentally, just a few blocks down from the Jackson residence; Piper's older sister Katie goes to the same class as the twins, but doesn't hang out with them as much as she used to. It's a small town, folks!) seeing as almost the whole family was there. Their parents both had two to three siblings each, and most of them brought their kids as well. You might suspect the birthday party is indeed a thinly veiled excuse for a family gathering; you're not wrong, but you're not entirely right either. What Piper wished for on her birthday is still unknown, but I can assure you one thing: given what actually happened later, it better not have come true.

Piper sat down, though she was in no way exhausted. She was only five, and as all five-year-olds she holds an inexplicable amount of energy. Though it was relatively late in the morning, everyone seemed to drift through the rooms with tiredness, as if they had all spent the last few nights out on the town drinking. Not that Adoración had much of a “town”, only the Blue Moon across the street from the Sunset Cafe, but you see the point. Piper didn't notice the tiredness as much as you or I would; she was far too preoccupied with the thing on the table in front of her: a two-layer strawberry cake with “Happy birthday Pper!” written on it in delicate pink frosting. Her mom had been mad when they first opened the package (which Piper couldn't understand why for the life of her: there was cake! How could you possibly be angry with that?) but ended up just serving it either way.

Piper enjoyed spending time with her cousins as indeed only a five-year-old could; desperately wanting to play with every single one of them at least for a few minutes. Katie was only fun for so long; besides, they were eleven years apart, and the older sister would much rather [b]not[/b] be there at all. The family was from the area – Adoración and the nearby towns – but most of them lived in downtown Anabel, about an hour-long drive, which was far above what Piper's patience could tolerate, even at her age. As such, Piper only got to meet the rest of her family – except for Aunt Linda, her mother's sister, (Alyssa Dureau was born and raised Callister, in case you wondered) who still lived in town. She didn't have any kids, but she was fun anyway. Piper missed her auntie terribly, (or tewwibly, she might say) as she hadn't been able to make it. Like most people in Adoración, and other towns in the middle of nowhere, she didn't own a cell phone, and she was expecting a call from Paul – her army husband over in Iraq – that day.

They were sitting at two large plastic tables, bought specifically for the occasion and put side by side to form a longer table, in the Dureaus' rather large backyard. Normally, October would still be warm – they were in southern California, after all, where the sun always shines – but today, it seemed unusually cold, as if a cold wind had come in and struck the town. Piper didn't think much of it, nor did anyone else. There was a party to take care of.

They were all sitting down at the table when it happened. Piper, wearing her present from Aunt Jenny ([i]a pwetty puwple dwess[/i], as the birthday girl herself had put it, a [i]weally pwetty one[/i]) had her parents on either side of her, with their respective families on their respective sides. The family resemblance on the two sides was noticeable, giving the party a somewhat eerie look. On the surface, the two families would get along fairly fine, but beneath the smiles and kind words lay distrust and disrespect. While by no means an extreme conflict – no Capulets and Montagues here, no – it made gatherings like these all the more uneasy. Piper was the keystone that brought them all together, the Sun around which the two conflicting planets could orbit. Perhaps it is no wonder, then, that they all would end up fighting to protect her.

It came suddenly, it did, but it would change their lives forever. Piper's father, once lead singer in a relatively well-known rock band, was recording the party on a similarly dated video camera. He had started recording just before Piper blew out the candles; at five minutes and fifty-nine seconds, his focus turned from the party itself to the brilliant light that split both sky and earth in half. A beam of brilliant blue light, I say true, originating from somewhere downtown and reaching far into the clear sky above. The other guests, including Alyssa Dureau who quickly grabbed her daughter's arm so hard that she might have bruised it, were transfixed on the light, which seemed to last for an eternity. However, as the tape shows us, it took no more than fourteen seconds for it to vanish. Fourteen seconds, after which life in Adoración would never be the same.

About the same time as the light dissipated and the Dureau-Callister cluster started asking the usual questions (What was that? Are you alright? Can we go home now?) sprinkled with various profanities from the mid-teens among Piper's cousins followed by swift reprimands from their parents, a hot gust blew through the gathering. The wind was strong enough to knock over a vase, spreading the decorative flowers across the table, and at six twenty-two, should we pause the video, we will clearly see that the water now staining the tablecloth has an odd shade of purple, no more than a tint. The more observant of us would notice the same tint on the rims of the cups and wine glasses on the table, quickly sucking up the liquids that linger there and taking on a barely noticeable crystalline form.

Piper's uncle – on her father's side, lead guitarist in previously mentioned rock band back in the days, was the first to take a sip from his drink, mainly to calm himself down. Subconsciously, or perhaps for the same reason, his two teenage sons and nine-year-old daughter followed suit. Alyssa's only brother Marc, an asthmatic for as long as he could remember, pulled out his inhaler during the stressful event and took a deep breath, unaware that the remains of his saliva in it now carried the tint as well.

The infection was not as quick as Matthew Freeborn's would eventually be, but I can assure you, that didn't make it any less painful. The ten-year-old was the first to start to cough; her comparably fast metabolism had already picked up the Raspberry Radiation Delight, which was rapidly spreading throughout her entire body. As Versago's barrier had allowed the affected air to gather and further advance the process, the girl's lungs became a veritable breeding station for the crystals and the energy they carried. With every cough she burst out, millions (if not billions) miniscule crystals were spread through the air, and covering her mouth only made her own condition worse. At six minutes and forty-three seconds, she fell off her seat. Her mother, conveniently seated next to her but so far unaffected by the symptoms, picked her up in her arms and rushed inside, trying to reassure her while screaming for the telephone. At this time, fifteen of the nineteen guests have been infected in some way or another.

We hear a scream from the inside, and the camera turns around to face the house. The sliding glass doors, wide open as the mother who carried her daughter didn't care in the slightest if the air conditioner pumped out cold air through them, suddenly slammed shut by their own accord. Through the slightly glaring glass, the other guests can do nothing but stare in horror – as well as coughing or perhaps vomiting, their bodies slowly but steadily reacting to what's happening inside them – as the mother stumbles out into the living room inside, her chest and right shoulder drenched in what looks a lot like blood but surely can't be. Piper's father, having almost forgotten that he's videotaping, thinks for a split second that perhaps the girl coughed up all of that. Then, he notices the steel prong (later identified as a door handle, ripped clean off with the screws still stuck to it) buried in the woman's chest, and all doubts were cleared. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Behind him, we hear someone vomit, and someone else is desperately gasping for breath. Above them, we hear a scream so high-pitched that it can only belong to Piper.
Happy birthday, sweetie.

The camera shows eight forty-nine PM. The sun went down just over two hours ago, but the sky was by no means dark; under the starlit sky, Piper and her dad looked out over a town in ruins. Fires have spread over town, and scattered screams can be heard. They had been trapped on the balcony since shortly after noon, but are so terrified and afraid that they have forgotten all about hunger or sleep. Piper's dad holds her in his arms, trying his best to keep her calm and comfortable – not the easiest task, as the corpses of their family are casually spread over the newly cut lawn beneath them, or what remains of them. Most of them died in their chairs, convulsing endlessly while choking on their own vomit, and now look anything but peaceful in their eternal rest. Others hadn't been that fortunate. Should we rewind the tape, we will see one of Piper's cousins – the oldest brother of the first girl – writhing in pain on the grass as inch-long horns penetrate every square inch of his skin, bursting through and revealing the contorted muscle mass beneath. He managed to take a few steps before his right thigh made a [i]Craaak[/i] and he fell, face first onto the table.

The first girl was perhaps the strangest case of them all, one whose fate was not at all incomparable to that of Lester Morgan. She, too, had developed a kind of special ability; what is most commonly known in certain crowds as telekinesis, or the ability to move objects from a distance. However, while Lester had only lost his eyesight, this poor girl had lost her mind. She immediately turned on her mother, ripping the door handle free and sending it flying towards her, before jumping onto her and, with all her might, trying to rip her mother's heart out. Her fingernails had curved into claws, and her skin had turned an abnormal purple hue. The family had watched in horror (for those of you interested, the cassette special is available from our gift shop, courtesy of Adrian Dureau's Birthday Documentaries) as the girl had appeared in the living room, and her mother seemingly [i]floating[/i] of her own accord for a few seconds before slamming into the glass doors. Surprisingly, and perhaps [i]fortunately[/i], the glass didn't break, not all the way through, but there was blood, oh gods, the blood, he had to look away, Piper couldn't see -
He turned around, and saw utter chaos.

Those who weren't already dead or dying had gotten out of their chairs, six of them in total and some of which he'd known all his life; his little brother Dennis who had taken his first steps in front of him, his sister Marilynn with the flowing red hair that now looked so, oh so much like blood, Alyssa's brother Peter that he'd actually gone to college with and ended up introducing them much to the spite of their parents... they had that same ferocity in their eyes, that naked, unfettered brutality. Marilynn jumped out of her seat, without any of the almost queen-like stride she'd had in life, and her eyes were locked on him. We can see her staring into the camera for a few seconds... eternity seems to pass as the clock goes from 10:43:19 to 10:43:22. At that time, she turned her attention to the dead body beside her and bent down. Piper's dad, once the lead singer of a rock band, thought he had seen it all back then. As Marilynn opened her mouth, revealing a full jaw of nothing but sharp spikes of bone and blood (her tongue dancing between them like a snake) and a feral smile on her lips, he had to look away.

They entranced him, he realized, these creatures that looked so much like his family but possibly couldn't be. Their slow, almost graceful movements contrasted with the horror of the situation (most of which he had blocked out entirely) to the point where it was hypnotizing to look at them. He could simply stand there and look at them as they stumbled out of their chairs on newly disfigured legs, legs that looked like a dog's hind legs, even to the point where sharp, curved claws were almost bursting through their fancy shoes and high heels. They didn't seem to pay him any mind, not at all, as their eyes were focused on the readily available supplies of fresh meat at the table-
A scream. [i]Piper.[/i]

He was snapped out of the trance in an instant. He had to save his daughter, no matter what. The old camera steady in one hand – something deep beneath him thought that this was important, too, that some record of this should be made – he rushed out towards his daughter, still in her seat, paralyzed in fear, and lifted her up in one hand. He didn't turn to see if the beasts would follow him, but as we can clearly see through the lens of the camera, their heads have turned. The woman once known as Marilynn has looked up, her jaw drenched in blood. What can only be a piece of small intestine hangs from the side of her mouth, as some sinister parody of a half-eaten piece of spaghetti. They look at each other, snarl and growl for a moment, and then set out after them.

He had tried to start the car, at first, but as soon as the beastly Marilynn had turned around the corner, he realized that there wouldn't be enough time. At first he was confused at the front door being unlocked, but seeing the inside (with the ripped-out door handle, apparently taking the lock out with it) things were clearer. Somehow, they had avoided the girl as they ran back into the house. Either she was preoccupied with something else – he didn't dare think of what – or she simply didn't notice them, but they managed to sneak past her and out on to the balcony.
“It's the only place they'll see us, dear, the only place they'll see us. They'll come to get us, and everything will be fine.”

Now, ten hours later, they are still trapped on the balcony. They have occasionally seen the girl pass inside, but other than the random screams of terror coming from somewhere in town, there has been no life in sight. Piper, still in her purple dress and her face lined with the traces of tears, pull closer to her dad.
“Daddy, what's going on?”
It wasn't the first time she'd asked that question, but he still found himself incapable of answering it. Didn't want to, for the sake of the bodies down below – his sweet Alyssa and his parents included. Instead, he forced a smile. Holding up the camera, still – the battery seemed to run endlessly – he focused it on her.
“Relax, sweetie, it's going to be okay.”
[i]Crash.[/i]
That was breaking glass, too close for comfort. Almost immediately below them. [i]The bottom floor[/i], he'd realized. Something was breaking through the glass windows leading out to the backyard, probably from the inside. That could only mean one thing. [i]The girl's coming out. But why? Wouldn't she...[/i]
He didn't finish that thought, as he all of a sudden understood. He could hear it, too. The calling, riding on the winds. Wasn't there a sweet scent in the air, as if you were standing on a field of flowers? Somewhere, something wanted him to be there, wanted him to join it... but he couldn't go. He had Piper to watch, and Piper couldn't go. Somehow, he knew that much. He stayed on the balcony, and watched the girl crawl out on all fours into the backyard. She had changed, almost beyond the point of recognition. At first, he thought her arms had split into halves; he later realized that it was her fingers that had extended, each of them almost two feet long and the width of a baseball bat. Her legs were still the same length, giving her a very eerie look, as if she was a runner at a track waiting for the race to start. Her hair had grown to at least three times its previous length, now striped and dragging in the muddy grass like shadowy tendrils. Her dress had ripped across her back, revealing curved spikes, about a foot long, down her spine. Still somewhat entranced by the calling, but sane enough to notice what was happening, the sight of the girl – now truly a beast, God help us – made him shiver to the bones.

The Dureau residence was at the corner of Westward and Main streets, separating the backyard from the former only with a thin fence of wooden planks. Apparently, it was strong enough to hold the weight of the beast – although the old boards still creaked audibly, even from where they were sitting, a good twenty feet away – as she heaved herself over the fence and crashed down on the street below. There was an even louder crash of bone as the creature collided with the pavement, but she didn't seem to mind. Even from here, he could see that the beast's eyes – glowing in the moonlight – were fixed on something further down the street.

As what seemed like an eternity (only thirteen seconds, the camera showed) the calling seemed to grow even stronger, but he held on to Piper. He strongly suspected that she was the only thing that kept him alive now. After those thirteen seconds had passed, the abridged eternity, he saw what the beast had laid eyes upon. The boy could have been no taller than six feet, and by no means broad-shouldered (he would possibly have described him as thin, even) but he emitted an aura of threat, of power and supremacy. He was dressed entirely in various shades of gray; his faded trousers noticeably darker than the bright, long-sleeved shirt. His shoes were black, the only discernible detail from this distance, but like all other details of the boy's appearance were eclipsed by one physical feature. His hair, reaching down to his shoulders, was completely and utterly white. His eyes were a dark gray that seemed to glitter in the moonlight, giving off sparks that even seemed to light up the street around him.

He was now less than ten feet away from the beast that had once been a sweet ten-year-old girl, but she didn't seem aggressive; instead, she did the unbelievable (if anything that had happened this day was actually believable) and knelt down before him, as if he was the lord and she but a servant, or a soldier. The man on the balcony clutched his daughter tighter as he heard other footsteps – and other sounds, as well, the clattering of insects' feet and the loud stomps of much, much larger creatures – come closer, from both sides of the road. One by one other creatures, barely visible at this distance and in the pale moonlight, arrived and came to a halt at both sides of their kneeling kin. Without a moment's hesitation, they did the same. Piper Dureau's father, once the front man for a rather successful rock band and now shaken to the bone, could feel his lips move but had no control over them.
“Who are you?”
It had come out louder than he had expected. The boy turned his head immediately, those gray eyes burrowing themselves into his mind. Piper's father had never met Jonah Morae in his life, and probably never would, but if he had, he would be shocked at seeing the white-haired boy's face. The two of them could've been twins.
“I am Adam.”

At this point in the recording, we hear a strong wind blow past the camera, seemingly coming from the boy's direction. We hear a cough, rapidly followed by another, as the camera falls from the steady grip of his hand. It lands lens-first on the wood, shattering the fragile glass almost immediately. We hear the sound of muscles contorting and bones growing with remarkable speed, and shrieks of pain.

The last sound before the battery finally runs out is a single word.

[center][i]Daddy![/i][/center]
[/spoiler]

[Umbra]

Chapter 6 is now posted, and hopefully formatted correctly.

[spoiler=Chapter 15]
As we have observed, Adoración will eventually succumb into chaos, and a young girl named Piper Dureau may or may not live to see midnight of her fifth birthday. The boy Adam's appearance is perplexing – not even we, such beings of power as we are, can comprehend the circumstances behind his creation. Of course, what has happened in Adoración [i]may[/i] be part of the problem, as well as Jonah's direct involvement, but even then... the fact that he materialized in the flesh is [i]odd[/i]. I suppose we shall hear more about it in the... Hold on a second, she's calling on the other line. She's always...

You need [b]what?[/b]
[center]Fires in the Sky[/center]

Lester stumbled down the stairs, his feet moving too fast for his brain to connect the dots and the odd third-person perspective throwing off his movements. He was going on pure instinct now, pure impulse; [i]I have to get out of here.[/i] That was unquestionable, the absolute truth as far as he was considered, and it was urgent. There was no time for conclusions now; there would have to be, later, but There was a sound from somewhere behind and above; had he paid attention, he would have recognized the groan of his father, lying on the floor and desperately gasping for breath. However, he did not.

On his way down the stairs, he cast a glance - as only a boy whose spirit was detached from his blind body could - at his mother, sitting on the couch with her head at a slightly unnatural angle. He could clearly hear her snoring, though, so he assumed she was fine. That assumption lasted for approximately five seconds, after which he turned to look into the bloody, gory mess that was the kitchen.
[i]See.[/i]
And, just as before, he saw the world fall into place around him. He jumped at first as he watched his father walk backwards down the stairs, but the rest of the scene unfolded with an incredible clarity. Wasting no time, Lester was already heading for the door when he sawhis mother dig out the bent frying pan, which now lay discarded on the floor, from the spontaneously regrowing remains of Ephraim Ford's face. The madness in Andrea's eyes was sovivid, so clear, that without thinking about it he sent a silent prayer that his mother wasn't the one that had gone after him. Without further warning, he headed out.

The town wasn't as bad as he had thought; only a few strands of smoke trailed through the sky, and as he stood there, listening, he could only hear a few, disconnected screams that were abruptly cut short. If there was going to be a riot, like the ones in the movies and the books, it hadn't started yet. That was good. He still had some time, it seemed. He needed to find the others, and (mirroring his father's words from earlier, even though both of them usually reserved curses for special occasions) get the hell out of here.

Dryad stopped Elvira in her tracks. Kyaran, still carrying the feather-weight Jonah in his arms, froze a few feet behind her.
"What is it?"
She didn't turn around, but Kyaran could nonetheless feel the coldness in her gaze as she shook her head.
"You didn't even feel it, did you? Something has changed."
Didn't he? Kyaran opened up his focused mind just a little - but enough to feel Jonah start slipping through his fingers - and carefully prodded around in Adoración. Even if the physical riot had yet to start, the spiritual chaos had already started. Kyaran could clearly see the currents of energy moving into the air, erupting from behind them as a strong wind and spreading along the streets like wildfire. Above them, the rising heat from the fires in town had lifted some of the affected air far above them, creating a formation that had no name to Kyaran but what most people would call a mushroom cloud. And yet, wasn't there something else? Were they suddenly going against wind? The wildfires following a straight path,heading in the opposite direction they were going?
[i]Pushed away,[/i] he realized. [i]The affection has been pushed away by something. Something up ahead.[/i]
Now that he had seen it, he couldn't believe he had missed it in the first place. The road they were on had aligned into a straight path, a paved road for them to follow. Across the windows and walls of the buildings on either side the small crystals had been plastered, pushed so hard against them that they were practically paste. Their path was there; they could only follow. He nodded.
"Was this in your predictions, too?"
The Primordial woman shook her head, and finally turned around.
"Chaos is the natural state of existence, Kyaran. Eventually, all things crumble and die. This...", she waved her hand at the walls and the ground, "... is order. Order that has risen from chaos. This only happens under one condition, Kyaran. I suppose even you know what that is."
Kyaran, a bit taken by surprise the statement, didn't immediately respond. Dryad sighed.
"Someone's out there, Kyaran, someone with the power to do this. The only ones in this town who should be able to do so are you and me. There's a third agent out there, little one, and they might not be on our side. I can't look out for both you and the boy."
Kyaran shrugged.
"I don't know about you, but if this... [i]agent[/i] you speak of gave us a path to follow, wouldn't he be on our side?"
The glare he received from Dryad could have cut through solid steel.
"It could just as easily be a trap. Be wary."


The disconnected Elvira was only following the discussion with moderate interest. She couldn't see this ”path” they were talking about, and was only mildly worried about whether or not the ”agent” was on their side or not. No, with every passing minute, her mind gradually drifted to somewhere else. Some[i]one[/i] else, to be precise; the boy they were now running through town to save. She had only been to Lester's house once, but knew it well enough that she'd be able to find the way. Every now and then, she sent a thought to Dryad - [i]turn left up here[/i] and [i]second street on the right[/i], et cetera - only to retreat back into the depths of her mind. She was very, very glad Dryad could do the walking for her; right now, she didn't really have the strength for it. She had seen too much, done too much, and now she simply wanted to lay down somewhere and sleep. But even from her distant state of existence, Elvira could feel the storm brewing in Adoración, where the wind and the wildfire surged through town. They couldn't stay – not for long, at least – but where could they go? Where, exactly, could they find safety?

Lester turned a corner, sprinting down the road and breathing heavily. They weren't far ahead; he could sense that now. The angel that had called himself Kyaran was there, a fading flame somewhere up ahead, as well as the beacon of shining light that could only be Dryad. He barely had the time to marvel at his new abilities, this spirit-sight or what you'd call it; he was in a hurry, after all. Oddly enough, it seemed as if the world itself rushed to his aid, taking him down the right path; every step he took seemed to push him forward, propel him down the road as if he was on the wings of angels. Reaching them should've taken ten minutes: he made the distance in less than two.

...you want us to come to the roof. Okay. I'll tell the others. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. To an ordinary onlooker, the scene that followed might look cute, and perhaps a bit romantic had the two been slightly older. The black-haired girl was gracefully striding down the street, not without haste in her step, when the blonde boy turned around the corner in front of her. They locked eyes. The girl was smiling. The boy - slightly worried about the unconscious Jonah, hanging in Kyaran's grasp and seemingly not even breathing - hesitated for a moment, then smiled, too. They started running towards each other, a slow sprint at firstbut quickly accelerating with every passing moment.


As soon as Lester had appeared from around the corner, Elvira had come forth. Dryad had only tried to stop her for an instant before she gave in, and the girl started to run. Letting the threads that connected the two of them extend, like a kite-flyer would do with her string, Dryad remained hovering by Kyaran's side, watching the two teenagers embrace. Kyaran, more focused on keeping Jonah up more than anything else - was he moving? Was that little shifting of muscles Kyaran felt just that, or was he actually coming back to them? - didn't see the tears trickling down her cheeks. She cleared her throat.
"Look at them, Kyaran."
Only momentarily looking up from Jonah, Kyaran glanced at them. The two teens were still interlocked in their embrace; a physical sensation that Kyaran could only remember from a time long lost.
"They seem happy."
Dryad nodded. There were no tears on her cheeks anymore; only a feint smile.
"Remember that well, Kyaran. That happiness, this tiny piece of order among this chaos, is what we're fighting to preserve. There are dark forces stirring on this planet, young Tormentor-kin, and in the rest of the Multiverse beyond it. Beings of pure, unmitigated chaos that wish for nothing but the end of all existence."
Kyaran nodded.
"You mean Versago."
She nodded back, but her eyes ([i]was that fear? Terror?[/i], Kyaran had time to think) said otherwise.
"Versago rests now... my assault only bought us time. He will return, don't think anything else, and he will not be pleased, Kyaran. There will be battles ahead, young one; battles that may turn into wars. We will have to prepare."
She nodded at the two standing in front of them.
"For their sake."

Elvira didn't see it at first. Knowing that Lester was alright - not only seeing him but feeling him, his arms around her and hers around him - made everything else seem arbitrary, if not entirely unnecessary. This nightmare that they were living in now was allowed to dissipate into unreality for just a moment. Life was normal again. Tomorrow, they'd be waking up as normal, they'd all be fine, sit down around the breakfast table as usual, and then maybe she and Karen could hang out with Melani-
[i]Melanie. Uncle Vince. Uncle Matty.[/i]
And, just with that thought, her false reality had shattered. The nightmare was, as a matter of fact, real, and Uncle Matty was dead. She had killed him- [i]No.[/i] She couldn't let herself think that. Uncle Matty was dead as soon as he walked up to that house. There was only one to blame; Versago, the shadowy creature that she had only caught a glimpse of before it retreated to God-knows-where. It had released this chaos, this destruction, on their home. It had changed the world forever.
[i]Wherever you are, Versago, you will pay for what you have done.[/i]
She pressed her arms a little tighter around Lester.
[i]But not now.[/i]
That was when she looked him in the eye - or tried to. Now that the false reality, the glimmer of hope, was gone, she could truly see him. She couldn't stop herself from trying to shy away, but his grip - or was it her own? - was too hard.

The crystals that had sprung forth on his eyelids had now spread further. The purple-tintedgems filled the eye-sockets entirely, and - Elvira couldn't tell in this light, but it was possible - were they glowing? A feint light that cast uncanny shadows on his face?
"What happened to you?"

Lester's body sighed. How could he possibly explain what had happened? He had so many questions that no one could answer. There was his dream - or was that really just a dream?The otherworld? And, on that note, who was the mysterious man in the machine? How did he get intohis dream? Did what he said make any sense? Was it even possible?

But, above all, there was one question that plagued his mind, one that needed to be answered. Lester's lips moved in a fashion that seemed only slightly askew, as if they hadn't been used for a very long time.
"Will you pray with me, Elvira?"

He had surprised her, he could see that. Her eyes had opened just a little bit wider, and there was a slight expression of confusion on her face. He could feel her slip away from himas she released herself from their grip... and clasped his hands. She smiled, a smile that was barely there.
"I will, Lester. I will."
He affirmed his hold on her hands – focused but gentle - and, in his dislocated spirit form, closed his eyes. At once, the feint glow (for it was indeed there) faded from view. Elvira, understanding in some way, closed her eyes as well. As he spoke, his voice seemed to reverberate through her. Not just in her ears, no, but in her mind as well. Her spirit seemed to detach from her body as she followed Lester's words.

"[i]Holy Father, we have come to You in search of guidance onto the path of righteousness, the path that is Yours and Yours only[/i]."
Now, they were both drifting above their own bodies; these spiritual visages of themselves had become entities of their own. Lester, those wonderful brown eyes of his now fully intact, smiled at her as he held her hand, and they drifted into the sky.
"[i]We speak as two lost souls standing in this image of Hell, brought upon us by Your eternal enemy[/i]."
She let out a brief scream as Adoración beneath her changed. Wildfires spread through town, a cleansing flame that brought down everything in its wake. Even the streets themselves cracked under the massive heat, and she heard infernal screams of pain and suffering from beneath them. She couldn't help but notice that their own bodies were still clasping hands as the flames started searing into their flesh. She would have screamed if she had had the time.
"[i]We pray that You, Lord, will shield us from harm and bless us on our way to the promised land[/i]."
No sooner than the last syllable had run out, the flames surrounding them were thrown aside by a whirlwind, raising a hellish tornado into the air. It just now struck Elvira that even though almost the entire town had been lit aflame by now, there was no heat. [i]The fire comes from within[/i], someone thought.
"[i]We will cast aside the shackles of temptation and sin that hold us down, Lord, and follow your son Jesus Christ into your blessed land.[/i]"
Still connected by the firm hold of one hand, Lester and Elvira stood side by side in mid-air, their legs hanging straight down and their arms reaching straight out to both sides, forming a double-cross shape. Again, they started to rise, faster and faster into the sky... and wasn't there a light up ahead? A light that welcomed them, if they stayed true? Stayed strong?
"[i]In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.[/i]"
And, as if summoned by a bell, there they were. Three human shapes, standing (in/behind/with) the light, looking at them and smiling. Elvira couldn't help but to smile herself. There they were, the Lords at the end of the path, and they were smiling at them! She pushed on, urged forward... and suddenly had to suppress a scream.

The three had changed - or, perhaps she had refused to see them for what they were. The one to the far left, who once had appeared to be a loving Father, had a black rock-crust as skin. The upper part of his chest was ornamented with blue lines, reminiscing of classical Egyptian designs, and on each side of his head a terrifying horn protruded. His small eyes seemed to stare directly into her soul, and she had to look away.

As her eyes fell on the rightmost shape, it made her wish she hadn't. This figure had now become a most Unholy of Spirits, a fiendish creature who seemed to emerge from the wicked light. Its skin a sickly blue-green and a pair of black wings, outlined by white bone which also covered its head and ran down the length of its arms and onto the backs of its hands, its very presence seemed wrong, incoherent, unreal.

The light itself, the light behind them, was different as well; it was a blue-purple color rather than the illuminating white, and she could see patterns appearing behind it. Lines and circles that didn't seem to be shapes at all; they curved and bent in places where they shouldn't, where regular geometry had lost all of its meaning. Even so, there was something behind that light, behind that which should not be; something so vast and old, and so malicious, that simply being in its presence, being observed by it (because it was watching them, that much was sure) made her feel sick. She had to look away, had to see something else, had to -

The third shape dawned upon her, and she wondered how she possibly couldn't have seen him before. He was standing in front of the light, after all, between the demon and the devil, and he seemed to draw your gaze to him. In contrast, this one almost appeared normal. It was a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, with light brown hair and deep-set green eyes that seemed peaceful and calm. It was his... choice of attire that would have made him stick out in a crowd. Fully equipped with what appeared to be a copper-colored suit of armor, with four large segments sticking out from the shoulders. There were three gaping holes in his suit; one in the middle of the chest, and one on each of the elbows. As Elvira watched, and moved closer - was dragged closer, she realized - three nuances of light burst out through the holes; a sickly black from the right that seemed overpowering and suffocating, a dark blue from the left that she feared could destroy her if it touched her, and, from the man's heart, a toxic green, the exact same shade as the demon on her right but more intense, more malicious, [i]worse.[/i] The three demons, and their master in the light behind, were not smiling. They had never been, she assumed. That was just trickery, the devil's deceit. They were grinning. Elvira desperately grabbed Lester's hand harder, tried to pull them back, but there was no use. The boy was completely still. A single word resonated through the entirety of existence.
"[i]Amen.[/i]"
She opened her eyes. They were still in that street, their hands clasped together in prayer. She quickly looked to the sky, then from side to side. There was nothing there. No fire, no devils and demons in the sky trying to draw them astray from the true path. She looked at Lester, who seemed as shaken as she felt. He gulped.
"We need to go, don't we?"
Having never agreed to anything more in her entire life, Elvira nodded.[/spoiler]

[Bahamut - Envoy of the End]

Read Chapters 3 and 4.

You sick, twisted, disturbed... genius.

Horrifying yet gripping reading.

[Umbra]

[spoiler=Original post][quote name='Bahamut ZERO' timestamp='1299860583' post='5066667']
Read Chapters 3 and 4.

You sick, twisted, disturbed... genius.

Horrifying yet gripping reading.
[/quote]

That might just be the best two sentences of criticism I have ever received. Thank you.
[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Chapter 16: Escaping the Nightmare]

There was darkness, and little else. The young man was shrouded in it, surrounded by its mystic aura and consumed by it. He felt more alone than he had ever done before in this darkness – yet, he knew he was not entirely alone. The light which had once filled this space, a brilliant blue light whose very essence vibrated with power, might have vanished, but the darkness that had taken its place still held a glimmering shard that reminded him of the past. He could see it clearly; it sat on the wall across from him, casting a dim, blue light across the nigh-impenetrable shadow.

[center][center][size=3]The Dark Within[/size]


The shard pulsed as he touched it and took it down from the wall. It felt warm in his hands, as if it had been a living, breathing thing and not a crystal.
[i]This is what remains of it,[/i] he realized. [i]It is gone, but it's not forgotten.[/i]
The light in this place, this chamber somewhere deep within his mind, was where he had drawn his power from. He had reached into the well, trying to get as much power as he could out of it, and ended up falling in. Now, the well had dried, but a sliver of power remained... one that was different.

“Look at me!”
A voice in the darkness. The young man looked around, but couldn't see anything. The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, from outside this realm and inside it. Suddenly, the crystal flared up in his hands; a searing, white light that burned in its center, like a maddened blue eye.
“Look at me, Jonah Morae! See what you have done to me!”
The young man cringed at the mention of his name. It reminded him of something darker, something sinister... the beast with a thousand faces, the dark one that he had tried to fight and instead ended up wasting all of his power against.
“You have made me nothing! I am nothing! You have fallen and you let them take your burden! You brought their doom upon them! Now you let them drag you to Hell and back! You waste me, Jonah Morae! Return to the surface where you can be of use! Where I can be something! Return, Jonah Morae! Return! Return! Return!”
The young man held the crystal with both hands in a vain attempt to shield himself from the ever-brightening flames, but to no use. Slowly, the darkness around him was pushed away, illuminated by a brilliant white flare---

Jonah awoke. Every breath was a stinging flame bursting through his lungs, every sight a singe on his eyes, but even through the pain he had awakened.


Kyaran almost dropped Jonah when the young man started to cough. He felt a wave of energy burst through the body in his hands, spreading a jolt through the spirit that almost made him shy back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Dryad's attention was still on the two children in front of them; if she had noticed, she didn't show it.

The spirit leaned closer to his protege, listening. Jonah's breath was slowing down to a normal, steady rhythm, and his heartbeat seemed normal. His cheeks flushed as color began to return to his skin, replacing that dreadful pale hue that reminded Kyaran of a withered corpse. The boy was recovering, and fast. A word slipped through his lips.
“Kyaran...”
The spirit hovered even closer, holding his arms around him.
“Yes, Jonah, I'm right here. You're safe.”
The boy looked up at him. He was exhausted, Kyaran could see that, but he'd be fine. The spirit couldn't help but to smile. The boy spoke again.
“Versago... where is he?”
Kyaran shook his head.
“Don't worry, he's gone. Dryad here forced him to retreat.”
At the mentioning of her name, the elder spirit turned her head. She nodded.
“Good, you're awake. ”
Jonah, startled at the sound of her voice, looked at her. His heart almost immediately skipped a beat when he saw the spirit hovering about, her power spreading out in a veritable web of threads in all directions.
“Who are you?”
Dryad's face showed no emotion.
“The one who saved your life. I'm sure your partner there can fill you in on the details on the way there.”
The young man – who seemed so fragile now, so weak – looked up at Kyaran, who simply nodded.
[i]I'll explain later.[/i]
“Jonah! You're up!”
He almost shied back when he saw Lester's new appearance. The crystal eyes, tinted a color he would have recognized any time as the same light blue he first saw on the Tormentor's skin three years before, frightened him to no end. At his side was the girl he had met a few days before, one of Lester's friends...
Was it Karen? Elvira? No, Karen was the other one.
The girl surprised him in her own right, too. The web of power that emanated from the spirit seemed to connect to her, unite with her and bond them together. He thought of the fire that connected him and Kyaran – a fire which had now been reduced to but a few, flickering sparks – and how brute and simple it seemed in comparison to this. That, apart from her own vast power, was the difference that set them apart. It was, he realized, what had saved him.
[i]In the end, I did nothing.[/i]
His assault against Versago had accomplished exactly nothing, other than striking some critical blow at the barrier. He had thought he was going to die... and for a moment, he had seen a brilliant white light. Then, he had passed out, and now he was awake. But he felt...cold, oh so cold. Not on the outside – if anything, it was an unusually warm day, as if someone had lit a fire – but inside.
[i]What is this...[/i]
Something dawned upon him, something unimaginable but still very possible. He tried reaching inside, as he had done in his duel against Versago, reach into that chamber in his mind where his power was stored, but to no avail. His vision was still clear in his mind, of the dark room and the shimmering crystal, but he hadn't understood it until now.

His powers were gone.


[/center][/center]
[center][center][size=3]The Dark Without[/size]


For now, we shall leave our friends in Adoración and take a small leap ahead. Don't worry, we'll be coming back to the soon enough.

Doctor Steller hadn't heard from the ambulance guys in at least an hour, and more and more calls kept coming in by the second. They seemed to be getting worse by the minute; what first seemed like a mild outbreak of the flu – which was strange in October but not unheard of – quickly escalated into insanity. Steller had barely had the time to compute what he heard, not just from the people on the phone but in the background.
[i]Doctor, please, help us, he won't stop coughing and there's blood everywhere, blood from everywhere[/i]
[i]My daughter's sick and something's setting us on fire, fires out of nowhere[/i]
[i]Please help me my father has an axe and he won't stop screAAAAAAAAAAAAAA[/i] and a crushing sound [i]get away from me daddy please[/i]
At his side, Veronica was doing the same thing. They both put down the phones at the same time, and allowed themselves a breather. She sighed.
“What happened, doctor Steller? How could everything go so wrong?”
He shook his head. The medical center was full of patients, resting on whatever mattresses or mats they could find. They had opened up the other room for the first time in decades, but even with that they were still overcrowded.
[i]We should've been ready for this. Or something like it.[/i]
He had never thought they'd be understaffed for something, that they could always handle what little were passed down from the general hospital in Anabel, but this was out of their league. He counted more than fifty patients spread out through their sparse hospital, with probably more to come.
Seven had died in the last hour. There was Joseph Bronchard, who used to run the bowling alley before his son took over. Tina Burbank, one of his daughter's old friends from Anabel High who worked down at the auto shop now. Christine Elusian, who had an eight-year-old daughter screaming and crying at her side. Others, faces he recognized, had seen all of his life, but never knew, were now just pieces of dead meat.
“I don't know, Veronica. God help me, I don't know.”
The phones kept ringing.

The rest of the hospital was no different. There were sick people everywhere; those whose closest of kin hadn't fought for their lives for the beds and mattresses were huddled on the floor, sneezing and coughing up blood. Some had lost their eyesight or hearing, their skin covered in some sort of crystal coating. Some of those who couldn't do anything for their sick drowsily walked about the room, their eyes looking but not seeing.

Very few people were actually healthy; if you weren't already in a bed, chances were you were going to end up in one eventually. Or in a bag. They would cough, and they would sneeze, but it wouldn't be as bad as for their bedridden family members. Instead, they talked. What remained of the Jacksons and the Freeborns had found themselves in a larger group; people they had perhaps seen on the street or somewhere in town, but rarely talked to. Vince was on his phone, desperately pushing the same buttons over and over again, raising it to his ear and listening every so often. The girls were sitting down, while the Jackson parents were nervously pacing about.

“I'm telling you, it's the Koreans.”
The voice belonged to James Kennan, incidentally a co-worker of Ephraim Ford's at Anabel's supermarket. The two had carpooled there as recently as the day before; James strongly suspected that they wouldn't do so again any time soon. He was but one of the survivors in their particular circle who were coming down with a mild variant of what everyone else seemed to be dying from. Before continuing, he coughed.
“Everyone knows that the Koreans have nukes, right? They could probably build something that could do this!”
The group muttered to themselves. One of them, an older man that introduced himself as Patrick John, cleared his throat.
“It doesn't look like an A-Bomb to me, kid. The houses were still standing when they loaded my wife into the ambulance. People are just sick, that's what.”
Patricia Hanover, waitress at the Sunset Cafe, who had seen her boss leap through their glass windows and break the table where Diego Rodriguez and James Harrington used to play checkers in half, and their financial manager choking on his own lungs, suddenly burst out.
“This look like some flu to you, geezer? People aren't just dying out there, they're killing! Going mad on the street like there's no tomorrow! And who knows, there might not be! With this biological warfare going on, this might just be the first step! Adoración now, the world tomorrow! Who's gonna stop them when they can do something like this?”
Patrick John didn't respond. Instead, there were three brief claps – as if someone was trying to call attention to themselves.
“People! People!”
The owner of this new voice was someone that Karen and Melanie both knew very well; they both went to school with Samuel Linsley, and none of them had liked him. He was the kind of kid that you could just tell he was trying too hard to fit in, the kind was just a little too excited and energetic. Now, however, he seemed to have gathered the ears of quite a few people, as the group's general consensus was an agreeing hum. Inspired by this, he continued.
“This was clearly an assault on freedom itself by the enemies of the American people! They come here from their lands and try to blow us up with their bombs, trying to kill Freedom! They attack us because they hate America! But here's something for you, terrorists!”
By now, he was bellowing at the top of his lungs. A small crowd had gathered around him, like fireflies to a lantern. He didn't seem to mind the attention.
“We will stand and fight! We are indivisible, and your weapons can't stop us! Be it bombs or biowarfare, America will not give in to you! We will not surrender! Are you with me, friends?”
Up until now, the slowly growing crowd had remained silent, almost hypnotized. As the [i]friends[/i] rang out in the room, a roaring cheer so loud that Melanie couldn't even hear herself think. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned her head. Karen was right by her, nodding towards the double doors.

There was a relative peace outside. Melanie and Karen sat down, leaning against the hospital wall, and looking out toward Adoración. They weren't saying much. Karen's eyes, so similar to her sister's, were distant, as if she looked at something beyond what normal humans could see. Perhaps she does, Melanie thought. Over the past few years, she had been thinking that there was something different about Karen – about all of them, perhaps. Having grown up with them and known them her whole life, she hadn't noticed it at first, but eventually it became clearer.

She had heard the story from her parents many times over the years; it had become tradition, a routine involving all three players that they all knew the script to by heart, but it didn't stop the tale's inherent likeability to Melanie. There was just something about the way the told it that made it seem... magical.

Odysseus Jackson had always been a town kid, one of the locals, until he married an [i]Italian[/i] woman.
“That's right,” Matt used to say, “not only did he marry an out-of-towner, but a foreigner, too. Let's just say the girls in town weren't too happy with their Prince Charming being taken away from them.”
He would nod at Vince and say something along the lines of “We never had a problem with that, did we, Vince?” to which the latter would smile and say something like “You never did.” and then they would all laugh. (Melanie missed those days now, she really did.)
“He and Freddy hooked up pretty quickly, didn't they? I mean, it was before we really knew them, but I think it was pretty quickly. Then, soon enough, she was pregnant. With Vira and Karen, of course. You can imagine how that went down.”, Vince would say. She understood. Twins weren't that common in town, and especially with their situation being what it was. They were different, very different, and most people only liked different to a certain degree.

Perhaps that was why Melanie had been drawn to them. She was different too, of course. Being an adoptee from Poland and living with a gay couple in California wasn't exactly commonplace, and in a small town like this, everyone knew who your parents were. She had never had any problems with the other kids at school – Adoración was, after all, fairly liberal – but she knew what happened in other places. Bullying. Isolation.
[i]Suicide.[/i] She shivered. She couldn't imagine how far some people went to make others feel miserable just because of who they are, or who their parents are. It just couldn't happen, shouldn't happen, that someone should think death was the only way out. She gulped.
“Karen?”
The blonde girl turned her head. The distant look in her eyes was gone.
“Yeah, Mel?”
Still looking out at the town, where now trails of smoke were clearly visible even at this distance, Melanie nodded.
“You think we'll be okay?”
Karen smiled, and put an arm around her shoulder.
“We'll be fine, don't worry. Uncle Matt will be back with Elvira, and then we'll get out of here. Someplace safe.”
That was when the doors flung open with such a loud bang that it startled them both. An even louder voice, that they both recognized as Vince, shouted.
“To hell with you!”
A cell phone flew through the open doors and landed on the hospital driveway, breaking open.

Vince Freeborn was afraid, which made him angry. He kept walking, following the path of the phone, an expression so vivid on his face that his own daughter almost didn't recognize him.
“Why won't you... Why can't you!”
Another voice, a woman, one that Karen knew well. She and Elvira used to call it the mommy's-in-charge voice.
“Vince!”
Frederica was going after him, almost running to keep up with his quick stride, while her husband remained in the door. The woman was screaming at him, too, but Karen knew her mother's voice very well; she wasn't mad at him, just trying to set him straight. The two girls got on their feet, but still remained some distance away from their parents.
“Calm down, Vince, calm down! I'm sure there's a reason he's not-”
Vince had stopped. His right foot was stomped down on what little remained of the phone, certainly breaking it. He turned around.
“Twenty-seven times, Freddy! Twenty-seven times, and he doesn't pick up the [i]goddamn[/i] phone!”
Odysseus grunted.
“Must be dead, then.”
All four of them drew a collective gasp, their faces showing various expressions of shock. Tears broke out in both Vince's and Melanie's eyes. His wife spun a full one-eighty, obviously furious.
“Odysseus! How can you just say something like that? You don't even...”
He shook his head.
“That's right, I don't know, the same way you don't know that he's still alive. For all we know, Adoración is Hell on Earth right now. If you can't get a hold of him, he's probably dead or dying.”
Vince pushed Frederica aside as he walked up to Odysseus. The fury in his voice was obvious to anyone who listened.
“Don't you dare say that, you bastard! He's still alive, I know it! He can't be dead! He was just supposed to pick Vira up, and...”
He couldn't finish the sentence – Frederica interrupted him with a sudden scream.
“Elvira! Odysseus, Elvira's still out there too! You think she's... that she's...”
He looked at her, and suddenly his eyes turned a shade darker.
“Don't you think I know that?! Do you think a second goes by without me worrying about her? That she could be somewhere in that hell all by herself, surrounded by God knows what they have become? Or worse, lying on some street with her head cracked open? We don't know what has happened, we don't know [b]anything[/b], but we can't start going crazy because then we're gonna lose it too!”

Melanie wanted to say something. She wasn't good at seeing people fighting, especially not her parents or aunt Freddy and uncle Odd Job. (They had never explained that reference to her, but she liked it well enough.) [i]They're only making it worse! We are going to go crazy if we can't stay calm![/i] The three of them – Vince, Frederica and Odysseus – kept shouting at each other, kept screaming. Karen's mother was waving her arms violently in the air, and would throw in a word of Italian every here and there in her anger.
She wanted to tell them to stop, to realize that no good was going to come from this, but something was holding her words back in her throat. Fear, obviously. As much as she didn't want to believe it, no matter how quickly she pushed away the thought, it had crossed her mind that Matt and Elvira might both be dead. Somehow, she felt that if she told them, then she acknowledged those thoughts. Made them real.
[i]You can do it, Melanie. You have to.[/i]
Yet, when someone finally spoke to them, it wasn't her.
[/spoiler][/center][/center]

[Umbra]

Chapter 7... oh, Chapter 7. I just couldn't stop writing it. It's now available in the same post as chapters 5-6.

God, I feel horrible for putting Jonah through all of this.

[spoiler=Chapter Seventeen: Unforeseen Allies]The three adults froze instantly. The voice that had spoken was very, very familiar to Frederica and Odysseus, but this was the last place they thought they would meet her. They hadn't heard the car coming up the driveway, or the opening and shutting of the door, but nonetheless the old woman with the noticeably foreign appearance was standing right there, and she had silenced them. Her voice when she was angry with someone wasn't something that could easily be overpowered. It wasn't loud, not in the usual sense, but it was powerful.
“Children, please! Give an old woman some quiet!”
Alicia Bellanovio, or “Mrs. Bell” as the Americans refused to stop calling her, even after over twenty years in this country, gasped for breath for a few seconds. Though she was pushing the seventies, her determination had never faltered Then, her eyes fell on her daughter and son-in-law, whose faces immediately fell in shame.

She walked, back and forth in front of them, as a drill sergeant talking to her troops.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves. Shouting of death and destruction in front of your children? Fighting on the doorsteps of a hospital? This town may have become a dark doorway into Hell itself, but I would rather see this entire country pass through it than my own family falling apart!”
She pointed at Vince with a waggling, slightly crooked finger.
“And that counts for you too, young mister. I know you must be terribly worried about your partner, but please, shouting and scaring the children is only going to make things worse for everyone.”
Vince opened his mouth partway, as if he was going to say something, but another stern look from Alicia turned him down. Noticing that all three of her subjects had been addressed, she turned to the children.
“You alright there, girls? They didn't scare you too much with their death-talk and all that?”
They both shook their heads. If anything, what they had seen over the last couple of hours had been far more frightening, even if hearing it from their parents was... different. She nodded at them, seemingly pleased, but Karen had spent enough time being babysat by her grandma throughout the years to know what the grayness in her eyes, that dim shade that certainly carried some weight in itself, meant. She could tell exactly what they were thinking, and it didn't please her.

However, the smile that followed cast away that grayness instantly.
“Oh! I almost forgot, what with all of that shouting of yours distracting me. We have guests here in this place with us.”
She spun around, with surprising agility for a woman of her age, and started walking toward the car – a car Frederica suddenly realized, which was different from the one her mother had bought fifteen years earlier and had been driving. It was a dark brown SUV, large enough to seat five, at the very least, with a company logo – [i]Haven Enterprises[/i] and four concentric circles in red, green, yellow and blue – on the side.
“Where did you get that car, [i]madre[/i]?”
After a second of consideration, the older Bellanovio woman shook her head.
“They brought it with them, Frederica. They say they work for [i]her[/i].”
She gave Frederica a look that both her daughter and her granddaughter understood. After all, they had both spent a lot of time with the woman in question. The old woman nodded.
“Is she here?”
Frederica cast a glance at her daughter, whose closed her eyes for but a moment. As soon as she opened them, she shook her head.
“She's with Elvira. They're -”
She couldn't finish the sentence before the two men gasped in utter surprise.

“Elvira?”
Vince stepped forward to her, quickly followed by Odysseus.
“Is she alive? Is she safe?”
Karen looked from one of them to the other for a few seconds. Again, Melanie thought that her eyes seemed distant.
“She's not alone. She is with them. Lester and the brown-haired friend of his. [i]She[/i] is there, too. She is safe.”
Odysseus gasped of relief, but Karen could see that Vince's eyes dropped with every name mentioned. Melanie's, as well. They remained quiet, but she could see that they wouldn't stay that way. Not for long. One of them would ask the question, the one which she had known the answer to for many hours now. She had felt it the very moment Dryad had released the second arrow, the one that had struck him down. The images from Elvira's eyes and the emotions from her heart had flown through her, lived through her. Uncle Matt was dead... but she couldn't tell them. Not yet.

Instead, it was her father that interrupted her.
“How do you know this? Who is this that you're talking to?”
Karen looked at her mother, who – after a short pause – in turn looked at her own. They remained like that for a few seconds. Odysseus, impatient, lashed out at his wife.
“For that matter, what happened to Elvira just before she left? That light in her eyes and the strange voice she spoke with... Something's going on here, Frederica, and I want to know what it is!”
Alicia looked at her daughter, eyes slightly wider.
“She has connected with both of them?”
Frederica nodded, the two women completely ignoring her husband.
“I just learned this morning. I didn't think it could work that way, but it did.”
The old woman, quiet for a second, sighed. She turned to Odysseus, who was just about to say something before she interrupted him.
“Her name is Dryad, Odysseus, and she serves a far greater purpose than any of us can ever hope for. She is a spirit from another world, one of unquestionable power. She once chose me as her vessel, and when Frederica was old enough she moved on to her. It is much too early for her to reveal herself to Karen and Elvira... but I guess that these times demand it. A storm is coming, Odysseus, and it may be greater than any of us can imagine.”
That was when the doors of the car swung open.

The three teenagers – Jonah, Elvira and Lester - stood in a triangle in the middle of the road, hands locked. Three spiritual shapes were floating above them; Kyaran, Dryad and Lester's immaterial form, his soul, if you may. Invisible to almost anyone in Adoración at this time, the air around them was vibrating with pure, unfettered power. Dryad was almost certainly sure that her plan would work, especially with the crystal-eyed boy's incredible resources to work with.
[i]What is he, actually?[/i]
His power was unlike anything she had ever seen. According to Elvira's memories, he had appeared to be perfectly normal (perhaps a cut above the rest of Adoración's sparse crowd of teens if Elvira's emotions were to be taken into account, but that's an entirely different story) as early as the day before, showing no signs of any extravagant abilities whatsoever.

She realized two things; first, that this was not the time to ask such a menial thing. The boy had chosen not to reveal exactly how he had obtained his power, but she could sense that the source of it was indeed the chaotic power that had appeared earlier during that morning. The crystals gave it away, obviously, and the boy's aura was very similar to what she felt around them – and, oddly enough, similar to what little remained of Jonah's. That, too, was something for another time. They had far more important things to do.

The second thing she realized was that her initial prediction seemed to be correct so far: those who were affected could be put in one of three groups. Going from what she had learned from Karen over the last few hours, most of them seemed to be going sick and eventually die. She had seen Matthew Freeborn turn into a violent creature that only barely resembled a human right before her eyes. Now, the boy's appearance gave the conclusive evidence to her theory: some, though probably very few, were also obtaining superhuman abilities. The boy truly had potential; his power was on a completely different level than anything she had ever seen. Not necessarily stronger, but different.

Together, the three spirits had formed a matrix of power, with Elvira at its center. Soon enough, their auras would work as one, which would give them the surge they needed to perform what Dryad called “the jump”. As her spirit was connected to both Elvira's and Karen's, she should be able to pull them together, taking Elvira to Karen's location and vice versa. The matrix, she said, would allow the other two to follow her, as cars chained to a towtruck. Although she hadn't tried it before, she was convinced it would work – and they had no other options. They needed to get back to the hospital, and none of those present could drive the four miles out there. Therefore, they had to put their trust in Dryad.
“Now.”, she whispered, and the three of them started to pull their auras together. Soon, they would finally be reunited.


The two men that emerged from the car were an odd sight. Dressed in long, richly ornamented robes – one a grassy green, the other a dark red – with hoods, they looked like something out of a traditional fantasy story; a couple of old wizards, walking strange roads. White beards covered most of their cheeks and chins, and their eyes – corresponding with the colors of their robes, strangely, were-
“I think they get it.”
The green-robed man had spoken up, seemingly to no one in particular. He cleared his throat.
“Well, this has certainly been long enough of a delay. How long has it been since we were in this story last, now again?”
The other one shrugged.
“Must've been some thirty-odd chapters, at the very least. And that was a flashback, I think. We weren't too important back then, were we?”
The green-robe shook his head.
“Most certainly not, we weren't, and honestly, I don't think that will change anytime soon. We're just here for the transition, and then we'll probably get back to where all the other used-up characters go.”
He seemed to ponder something for a few seconds.
“When we finally get there, remind me to tell that Isiah boy he owes me five decades. Kid wouldn't pay up last night.”
The red-dressed man nodded.
“You're telling me. Rodriguez junior tried to do that mind-trick of his the other day, but he couldn't fool this oldie. ”

The five onlookers had watched their conversation unfold with ever-increasing confusion. At some point, Melanie had walked up to her father. After a short embrace where they shared everything that they could possibly share – uncertainty, worry, and only a slight shimmer of hope that their loved one may still be alive – she asked him a question.
“What are they talking about, daddy?”
The words were caught up in Vince's throat. She hadn't called him [i]daddy[/i] in a long, long time. They had always taught her to call them by their names, just to avoid pointless conflict about who would be called what. There had been a brief time in day care when she had started calling both of them daddy back in kindergarten, when the other kids started talking about it, but they had explained that well enough and she hadn't said it much after that. Now, Vince found that he had missed it, missed it a lot.
“I don't know, sweetheart.”
Alicia turned her head toward them, and nodded.
“They were like this on the way over here. That one,” she pointed at the one in the red robe, “ almost missed the turn up to the hospital because he couldn't stop blabbering about some “Armageddon” that a demon had prevented.”
She shrugged.
“It's just nonsense, dear. I wouldn't think too much of it.”

At this point, the old men noticed that they weren't being listened to. The red-robe seemed particularly offended.
"Now, Mrs. Bell, it's everyone's responsibility to observe the parallel worlds. If you don't want to be a part of it, your loss."
The green-robed man shot a glare at him, then turned to the others.
“I guess we should explain ourselves a little. Some exposition never hurt anybody, especially not our new readers.”
The red-robed man smiled.
“Both of them.”
He was hushed by his friend.
“Be nice, Herios. We take what we can get. Anyhow.”
The green-robe turned back to face the five ordinary humans that had gathered in front of him. They made an interesting crowd; two incomplete families that would have closure of their personal stories in the upcoming chapters. If they knew these stories right, and they usually did (they had seen quite a few in their lifetimes), they would be seeing some of them at the poker tables in the Home of the Discarded soon enough. [i]But yet, they have purpose[/i]. He cleared his throat once more. [i]Seems to be something in the air[/i], he thought.
“My name is Razool, Sage of Earth. And as I told you before my internal thought process, just a couple of lines up, this is Herios. You get one guess as to which element he represents. “
Herios nodded.
“It's fire, if you didn't get it.”
Razool glared at his colleague – with a look that actually could shatter stone if he put some effort into it – and continued.
“We are Elemental Sages, if you couldn't guess that from our blatantly obvious naming pattern. Me and Herios are Dryad's ambassadors here on this planet. Dryad sent us to follow her some thirty-odd years ago, when she noticed there was something going on here. Since then, we've helped further her interests around the globe, while she was out having fun with you ladies.”
He nodded at Alicia and Frederica, but went back to speaking before they had a chance to respond.
“We received a distress call from her earlier this morning, and drove here as fast as we could. Meanwhile, we called back home for reinforcements and asked them to meet us wherever we happened to be near the end of the arc.”
Karen finally managed to break through to the old man.
“Home?”
Herios' smile was barely visible beneath his beard.
“The two of us, as well as Dryad, are not from this Earth. We will be going...”
He pointed upward, somewhere diagonally above the hospital. As he spoke, his eyes seemed to take on a strange orange tint.
“...to space.”

Dryad nodded at the two spirits at her side. Kyaran and Lester – as the boy's name apparently was – weren't used to directing their power in this way, to form this matrix. Understandable, but inconvenient for everyone involved. It had taken them some time, maybe a few hours, to get everything the way she had intended it to be, but now everything seemed to be alright. This particular matrix was something she had crafted of her own, a little piece of magic designed especially for spell duplication. She had used it many times with the Sages to demonstrate a spell, and as such was very familiar with the design. Right now... it was acceptable. It would do what she wanted from it, but little else. They couldn't afford to waste any more time. Adoración was on the verge of collapsing, she could feel it.
“It is time.”
The two spirits looked up at her, the matrix unraveling for just a split second and then reassembling. They were nervous and tense, but they could handle it.The three teens at their feet had long since been rendered unconscious from the over-use of their abilities, but Dryad was sure they would wake up the moment they arrived. The matrix would restore that power into them soon enough, as long as she pulled this off right. Kyaran nodded back at her.
“Whenever you're ready, Dryad.”
She nodded, and took a deep breath.

Then, a blast of light, and off they were.

[spoiler=Note]
Fourth wall? What fourth wall?
[/spoiler]
[/spoiler]

[Vector Nightmare]

No matter how smoothly the transition is made, when someone picks up a sequel, the first thing they'll notice is the differences from the original - and will usually view these in a bad light. There are plenty of reasons for these deviations, especially when a long time passes between a story and its sequel. But, after a certain point, the two "different" styles converge, and the reader is satisfied as he can finally 'match' the new with the old.

For The Dark Doorway, that point was most certainly Chapter 6. That was when I felt I was finally reading Legacy of the Tormentor once more. The story was good until now. But it was... different. There was still a bridge between it and the original that needed to be crossed. However, Chapters 6 and 7 have done it. The way everything spins around and ties in - Yasuo and the Jacksons were in particular amazingly done. I also loved the conclusion of the duel between Versago and Jonah - it really showcased the new threshold that will have to be surpassed in an excellent way.

Overall, from the two-and-a-half chapters, I have three complaints:

• Yasuo's backstory felt like an infodump at the moment, though the tie-ins were awesome. Perhaps it should have been spread out a little.

• The whole Versago just pretending to be Richard thing came into the picture too soon. I was kind of hoping for a bit more drama before the revelation, and maybe some more unanswered questions, but you just sort of... force-fed us the resolution of that part. The way Jonah went from thinking it was really his father to realizing Versago's ruse was rather obscure, too, at least to my eyes.

• As far as the duel itself is concerned, some cards felt more or less unbalanced. Taking Chaos Stream, for example - that card is certainly broken in an 8000-LP scenario - 4000 LP make it just absurd. However, the Divine Court cards are really interesting.

Other than a slight feeling of rush, probably because you wanted to throw in all those plotlines and give the duel appropriate focus at the same time, this was an excellent read, and I feel that it's only going to improve as you're finally settled down with the introduction, and now the story has taken on a definite shape as LotT's sequel. Great work.

[Umbra]

I'm glad you liked where I'm going so far. I deliberately put the Jackson parents out of the spotlight until Chapter 7 - not only because I hadn't thought of any names that were awesome enough, but because they weren't really essential to the story until then. I suppose that counts as a way of "tying them in", although I suspect that you allude to something that happened back in Legacy. Something most people either didn't read the first time around, or have forgotten since. If that's the case, I'm very happy.

I hope I can keep pushing that threshold further and further as the story progresses. I consider myself an above-average writer, I won't deny that, but I'm not exactly publishable quality. (Especially not Legacy, given the fanfiction stamp.)

As for the complaints, I agree with you on many points. Yasuo's backstory is most certainly an infodump, but I realized as I wrote the scene where he arrives at the hospital - or, to be precise, when I thought of it - that one way or the other, Yasuo will die soon. For a character I more or less created as a villain of the week back in Inheritance, only for that character to survive not one but two stories, I owe the man some exposition before he passes on.

Personally, I think it had gone on long enough. Versago's irregularity power has been showcased since his first appearance in Chapter 3; the power to draw on memories for almost as long. Scattered throughout Chapter 3 and onward, you'll find small notes that characters compare Versago to their own memories. Diego has a lot of flashbacks from his early life, Lester can hear the voices of everyone he knows in his voice, et cetera.

The problem that Chaos Stream presented came to mind somewhere around the time Jonah summoned the War General, and I realized that the card was going to be incredibly crucial to how the duels play out. After consideration though, it's not as huge a problem as I thought it would be. It adds a certain factor of risk to summoning monsters carelessly, but the once-per-turn mechanic also adds another condition that the players can exploit. The way it works is that the first monster that's destroyed each turn also deals damage to its controller. It adds a layer of depth to the game.


It wasn't as much a "rush" as it was a feeling that I needed to end the chapter. It was already pushing thirty-five hundred words of length, and I don't think it needs to be any longer than that. What I had planned for this chapter - a new character being introduced - would have required far too much content and increased the length of Chapter 7 to far beyond what I consider endurable. The character was hinted at during the latest chapter, but will be given a proper introduction in Chapter 8.

[Umbra]

Chapter 8 has now been posted, and deals with the conclusion of the Versago encounter.

Anyone who recalls the end of Legacy of the Tormentor, and just got a flashback: That wasn't on purpose. It just happened.

[Vector Nightmare]

Just now I finished re-reading the original Legacy of the Tormentor, from the beginning to the end. I found that there were a lot of things that I mis-remembered, and a lot that I did not remember at all. I do feel obliged to mention that one of the main problems with Legacy of the Tormentor, that I had not quite paid attention to / pointed out back then, was the pace of the final few chapters. Starting from Jonah being 'turned' by the Eraser, things just seemed too hectic, and often confusing. I'm glad to see that, in the Dark Doorway, you are dealing with unexplained things from Legends - upon re-reading Legends, Hironima, whom I only remembered as a minor one-shot villain, became much more interesting as a character and I found his plot thread extremely intriguing here. Especially, I would like to see if Jonah has any lingering effects, or at least thoughts, about the time he was a puppet of the Wicked Gods. That was certainly a major thread in Legends that was sort of left hanging - after Eric killed the Wicked Gods and the brainwashing was broken, Jonah just returned to his old self almost seamlessly and no further exposition was given. And I'd also like to know what happened to Jack. He was actually one of the reasons I re-read the story today - stemming from your even earlier work, Inheritance of the World, he was a character I was particularly interested in but couldn't quite recall what had happened. It is mentioned that, thanks to the whole time-travel thing, Jack had 'died' many times but there was always another one. The ending was rather ambiguous - though it is implied that Jack is permanently dead now, the whys and hows are not explained, and if any old character deserves at least an honorable mention in the sequel, it's probably him. I was also surprised at how much Legends 'pointed' at its successor - though I did also realize that Dark Doorway started off more abruptly than I originally gauged. In fact, Jonah's father had been such a minor plot point in the original that it was weird I had not found it strange - perhaps we had talked about it, or you had posted something about it, or something similar, because as I read, Richard was only mentioned explicitly thrice in the entire first volume. Another thing that had sort of slipped away over the years was how dueling somehow faded out after a while. Don't get me wrong - I found it perfectly fitting in a story such as LotT, but it is worth noting that, though the story starts out rather duel-intensive, it shifts to the background around halfway through. Reading it this way made Jonah's and Versago's duel rather iffy, admittedly. I'm wondering whether The Dark Doorway will go towards the same direction. Because as good as Yu-Gi-Oh! is, LotT had a much grander scope.

I just felt like pointing out those things as notes to keep in mind for the sequel. My views have not changed, of course - I still thoroughly relished in every bit of Legends, and finally finding the time to re-read it made the sequel that much more enjoyable. A few thoughts on the eighth installment: Jonah's power trip was something I had seen coming. Was the power he wielded against Versago stronger than what Eric had been able to channel? Stronger than what he had at his disposal at the Wickspire? I am eagerly awaiting those answers. But Versago totally made the Dreadroot look like an oversized plush doll. I'm seriously wondering about the Jackson twins now, though. Did the Dryad wield power greater than Jonah's? Or more refined (still would have to be a crapload of power though)? Or was Versago caught off-guard? But if so, why didn't he just retaliate immediately? I think this chapter left the biggest cliffhangers yet (in the sequel). One thing that was missing from the original was, as mentioned, sufficient exposition into Jonah's thoughts concerning the events that transpired around or involved him - much broader story scope does encompass that flaw. With the sequel, that hole has been shut, so I can't wait to read how this all plays out from his perspective .

[Umbra]

I realize the same thing about the last few chapters, now that you mention it. Everything after the Horakhtum between Isaac and Seerra - and the subsequent destruction of Redemption City, another hanging thread that will be revisited - was written during a vacation without internet access, and pretty much in one sitting. At that point, I just felt a lot of things "click"; the feeling that this is how the story is supposed to be. Plus, I had set an internal "conclusion" at 23 chapters, which is probably why I, at chapter 20, "had to" rush things. I wanted it to end at 23, for some reason, and that resulted in too quick a conclusion. Though I have 24 chapters set for The Dark Doorway, that is definitely subject to change.

I'm not quite sure how to handle the temporary villain-mook period that Jonah went through. I will admit that I actually had forgotten about that part, but now that it's brought up it definitely has to be tied in to the story somehow. I was planning to explore a darker side of Jonah's power in the next few chapters, so that could definitely be the hook for it.

Jack will definitely be explored, as well as Richard's ultimate fate. Richard first featured as Rick Norgrass in Inheritance, and the last we saw of him back then was going into the past with Jack and Xon. I actually had the outline of another chapter for Inheritance in the works, where you'd find out exactly when and where Jack and Richard ended up going - and what sorts of effects it will have on the story. (Or "will have had" to use the proper tense.)

I've never been a huge fan of writing out duels myself. I believe I mentioned at some point back when Legends was still in process that I preferred other methods of solving an argument; the Horakhtum and the blatant chest-stabbing between Eric and Jonah (heck, they were falling) comes to mind as examples of that. I use the card game when convenient - as in this situation, where Jonah believes he has a fairly good chance against a person who has never played the game before.

I'll definitely keep all of this in mind. I actually had a "past" arc in mind, where we follow Richard and Jack and their battle against Xon. I don't like to leave plot threads hanging indefinitely; issues will be addressed.

As for the comments on this chapter, I actually look to physics for the "efficiency" of power usage. It's not exactly a formula, but a ratio similar to how pressure works. The same force, applied over two different-sized surfaces, gives different pressure. The more control you have over your power, the more efficient is the use of your power. To compare, Jonah pretty much releases a river of power onto Versago, who can take the blunt of that attack and even reflect it off himself. Dryad releases roughly the same amount of power - perhaps even less - but since she compressed her attack into an arrow, the "pressure" that the power applies and the damage it inflicts increases tremendously. The Jackson twins will definitely be expanded upon, and exactly how their power differs from Jonah's.

I would say that, right now, Jonah is at roughly the same "raw power level" as Eric was at the Wickspire, but as Eric had also learned how to use Richard's natural ability, he had achieved a greater level of control over his power. Therefore, Eric could apply more "pressure", being able to inflict the same amount of damage with less power usage.

Versago didn't expect a being of Dryad's power to attack him at that moment, much less being attacked at all. Losing a hand is rather incapacitating, and Versago isn't capable of regrowing it without outside assistance. I won't go into details about Versago just yet, but I will say that there are limits even to his power. He fears that Dryad may be able to override those limits and overpower him in his current condition.

Considering the cliffhangers, I am aware. Dryad's appearance at this point in time is bound to raise questions, and the answers you'll get from that will certainly shake things up even more. I will only say one thing for now, though; this isn't the first time Dryad has pulled some strings in the story, though it is the first time she actively intervenes.

[Umbra]

...and, after an astonishing lack of comments, we have a new chapter. Catastrophe can be found in the sixth post of this thread, or through the link in the opening post.

[Umbra]

...and another bump for good measure. Chapter Ten is under construction, and should be up in a matter of days.