"Right this way, Mister..." -- Gentry checked his clipboard -- "...Calloway. I apologize for the inconvenience."

"I'm sure you're very concerned about my inconvenience," grumbled the balding and bespectacled man in his early thirties who was currently trundling along behind Gentry. "I'm pretty sure we both know what this meeting is about."

"I'm sure I wouldn't know," demurred Gentry. "I'm merely the messenger."

"Look," said Richard Calloway, "you can give me all that following-orders crap you want, but it's not going to change the fact that whoever's running the show upstairs has no goddamn idea what they're doing." He gestured furiously. "For chrissakes, we're at less than half our safety officer staffing after all these layoffs."

"Is that a problem?" inquired Gentry mildly, navigating his way deftly through the halls towards the elevator. "I'm afraid I don't know much about the industry."

"Of course it's a problem!" fumed Calloway. "If it dips any lower, we're going to start being at serious risk of a safety incident or quality control issue; people could get hurt. And not to mention the fact that the government could fine or sanction us if we don't meet our regulatory minimums."

"I suppose that would be inconvenient," Gentry murmured, making a mental note to take some preventative measures regarding government oversight and scrutiny. He pressed the elevator button, and the two of them began the long ride up to the building's top floor. "I take it you're concerned about the direction of the company?"

Calloway snorted. "Man, whatever. I'm about to get fired, so what do I care? I'll get severance. It's not like any protests I could make at this point would make a difference, anyway."

"Ah." Gentry pursed his lips. "I suppose it is a bit of a foregone conclusion for you personally at this juncture."

"That's life, pal." Calloway shrugged and sighed. "Look, I'm on my way out, so you might as well tell me. Is there going to be an end to the layoffs soon? Or is the new management just going to gut the company entirely?"

The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival. Gentry began leading Calloway down the hall to a large, very solid door of well-paneled oak. "Well, I can't say I know what will happen for certain," Gentry hedged, opening the door to reveal the wiedergänger seated at an imposing-looking desk. It howled hideously, sensing its next meal approaching. "But just between you and me," Gentry confided in Calloway as he gestured for the other man to enter, "I think it's going to be a real bloodbath."

----------------------------------------

"Whoah." Enna looked up at the structure ahead of them. "Does it look half that cool in the real world?"

"No." Orton stepped forward and opened the giant gate of black iron, which squealed and moaned as it turned on vast rust-covered hinges. "In the real world, Raglan Castle is a tourist trap with a café and a gift shop. There's no gate at all, just a parking lot." Despite the gate being nearly thirty feet tall, he held it open for the others with ease. "Here, on the other hand, there are probably guards."

Enna blinked. "How are you doing that? Did you get super-strong when I wasn't looking?"

Orton shook his head. "The gate's not real -- it's technically a philosophical construct. So if you happen to be juiced up with magical power, it's very light to you."

He gestured, inviting Enna to try. She pushed on the gate lightly, and jerked back in surprise when it moved easily. "Jeez! Oh, that feels weird."

Jiann shoved against the gate, but it refused to budge. He grunted. "Seems like discrimination t' me."

Orton shrugged. "You're technically a spiritual being, remember? I'd imagine it's very solid to you." He turned away, heading towards the castle in the distance. "But we probably shouldn't play with the scenery. We might upset the residents."

Seen from a distance, Raglan Castle looked like nothing so much as a series of jumbled stone pillars; as they approached, the crenellations and parapets of the battlements became more visible. An array of rectangular towers flanked a large entryway, with a wide cobbled path leading up to it from the gate; dead, reddish-tinged grass stretched away on either side to the edges of their vision. Logically, Enna knew that a wall encircled the keep -- since they had had to circumvent it via the gate -- but it was no longer visible, despite the fact that it very much should have been. She shivered, despite the warm air. "So, what kind of guards do you think there will be here? More hellhounds?"

Jiann grimaced. "I sure hope there ain't. Them dang things were a bit too bulletproof for my likin'."

Orton shrugged. "Well, bullets are about as effective on you. Maybe use something that would be dangerous to another metaphysical entity?"

"What about lightning?" asked Enna brightly. "Can we blow things up with lightning?"

"Sure, you can play Emperor Palpatine if you want," Orton replied dismissively. "It might even cut down on the collateral damage, too. Just try not to use it near anything flammable."

Jiann chuckled. "You know she ain't got no idea who Emperor Palpatine is, right?"

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"It's not my fault if she's ignorant of culture," sniffed Orton in response.

"It almost doesn't matter what we do, though, right?" asked Enna, looking back at Orton. "You could just do that, uh, thing again."

"If you're referring to using a Platonic Form in combat," Orton commented, stepping over an ominous-looking crack in the earth, "there are a few problems with overusing that approach."

Jiann nodded. "I ain't never done it m'self, but I imagine it'd be quite drainin'."

"In terms of power usage, yeah, it's very expensive," Orton agreed, "and more to the point, it's a lot of power for a single attack -- for a fraction of that power, you could reify something and use it for probably the whole length of the battle. Also, I can't use very many Forms -- just the Infinite Edge and the Immovable Object, and that second one is purely defensive."

"Cain't use no Unquenchable Flame?" Jiann grinned at Orton. "Figgered that'd be a go-to fer you."

Orton shook his head. "I haven't mastered that one yet -- and I'm not sure I want to try. A fire that burns forever might be a bad thing to let loose on an unsuspecting planet full of stuff that happens to be very easily oxidized." Jiann grunted and fell silent -- remembering, Orton suspected, his own recent run-in with an unquenchable fire of a different nature. He knew enough not to pry.

As the three of them approached the main entryway, they could see that the stones of the castle were not clean; rusty red patches of dirt and black blotches of slime were spattered at various intervals, giving the castle a rotting and diseased look. As they drew near to the entrance, a shape melted out of the darkness; as Enna raised her hands to attack, Orton made a gesture of restraint. "Hang on. This might be the welcoming committee."

The creature which approached was tall -- nearly seven feet -- and clad in an old, threadbare robe sewn with many patches and a deep, shadowy cowl. It was roughly humanoid in shape -- two arms, legs, and a head -- but its features were indiscernible beneath its garments.

"Who's this? A guard?" asked Enna.

Jiann shook his head. "Guards usually walk on th' ground. That there fella's floatin'."

Enna peered at the creature's feet; sure enough, they levitated a few inches off the ground. "How did you even see that? I thought you were blind."

Jiann grunted. "I ain't gotta tell you all my secrets."

The figure waited, hands clasped beneath its sleeves; Orton moved forward cautiously until he was a little over twenty feet away. He raised his hands slowly, then bowed slightly with his fist inside his palm. "Greetings. I know not whom I address, but we only come seeking knowledge."

You are known. The message echoed through his mind -- not words, exactly, but more of a suggestion of them; speech without sound or timbre. You do not seek knowledge. You seek intelligence.

Enna wrinkled her nose. "Gross. That's... ugh, that's weird."

Orton didn't turn. "What is it?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It's... rotten."

We are different from the living, the creature sent into their minds. Just as you are different from us.

Jiann shuddered. "Orton, this might be a lil' bit hypocritical, but these fellers give me th' creeps."

"Wow, rude. He can hear you, you know." Orton remained facing the robed figure, but addressed it directly this time. "All right, you've got me there. I need to find a way to stop an evil mage -- a man called Gentry -- from destroying the world, and you're my best bet. You tell me where I can find an artifact capable of contending with the Elder Sign of Solomon, and I'll pay whatever price I can for that."

That is a price you cannot afford. The message seemed to carry a weight of finality. Orton frowned.

"Orton, what exactly did you bring t' barter with these here folks?" Jiann asked suddenly. "Cause all of a sudden I'm feelin mighty sacrificial."

Orton resisted the urge to turn and bark at the revenant, and instead took a deep breath and let it out. "We must find information that could help us defeat him. Hell, you should be helping us anyway -- I'm pretty sure you'll be destroyed too if he completes his plans."

We are not as you are, repeated the robed figure. Its ensleeved hands reached up to take down its cowl, and Enna gasped involuntarily.

The head that was revealed was human, but not that of a living human; a fleshless, desiccated skull jutted from the neck of the robe. Moreover, the skull was twisted and warped; eye-sockets that should have been round were distorted like melted wax into star-like and octagonal shapes, the creature's myriad teeth seemed to jitter and shift in its mouth. You live, and in living, are quick.

Orton struggled to understand. "Quick? You mean, alive? Of course we're alive." He crossed his arms, thinking. "You're trying to tell me something -- something about our situation, aren't you."

You cannot comprehend. The voice seemed tingled with sadness.

Suddenly, Enna stepped up beside him. "Okay, maybe Orton can't afford your price -- but maybe I can. Is there anything you can do to help us?"

The skull's eyeless gaze bored into her, silent for a moment. Then it swiveled back towards Orton. Your teachings have value. We could preserve them.

"My teachings?" Orton was taken aback. "You want me to write them down?"

Your apprentice, the creature sent back. It lowered slightly, its feet alighting daintily on the ground, and settled into a martial stance. We will test the fruits of your instruction.

Enna gulped. "Orton, I really wish you'd gotten around to teaching me kung-fu."

"This is some bullshit," Orton growled. He turned back to the robed figure. "She can't fight you. She's not far enough in her training."

Not the girl. Your apprentice.

Orton's mouth dropped open. He whirled around and gawped at Jiann, rendered speechless for several seconds. Then, abruptly, the unexpected occurred; a smile, a pure and uncomplicated smile, spread across his face. "Well, you heard the man. Get in there, grasshopper."

Jiann blinked. "Orton, we ain't got time for no foolin' around." He looked at the revolver in his hand, then shook his head and holstered it. "An' I don't think this here bone-head is gonna be real inconvenienced by bullets."

The youth are often recalcitrant.

Jiann scowled. "Hey, now, what's that supposed to mean?"

Orton laughed, surprising Enna. Slowly, he walked over to Jiann, then stared into the revenant's milky white eyes; his face still bore the same cheerful smile. "You were seventy-one when you tried to take me over, right? That was at the end of the third loop." He held up three fingers. "Then we went through the fourth loop together, and now we're fifteen years into that one. That makes you a hundred and six years old."

"So?" Jiann looked confused.

"Well," continued Orton jovially, "I was forty-one when I finished the first loop. That makes me sixty-one when I finished the second, eighty-one when I finished the third, and one hundred and one when I finished the fourth." He held up four fingers on his other hand. "I was out of it for nine years of this loop, but that still makes me a hundred and seven." His smile grew wider. "So I get to call you 'son'. And I say, 'son, get in there an' karate that skeleton-man in the face'."