Nighttime is hard. Sleeping is difficult. The higher my level gets, and the higher my endurance and stamina gets, the more difficult I find it to get to sleep, and mostly spend the time tossing and turning or on the computer. Tonight, it was the former. Wilhelm had given me what I had ordered just a couple of hours ago; it’s a sleeveless shirt made from the serpent skin and a strap that could slip over my empty eye socket. Was I doing enough? 80 doors is a lot, sure, but there were still thousands left in town alone; I was spending upwards of ten hours without closing them. I can’t do it. I push myself up off the bed and get dressed. I attach the kris to my belt. This was the perfect time of day to try this out; I had kept it home for the last week so I didn’t rely on it. I had seen what happened to the priest in my first door when he lost control of it, so I had been wary of taking it out. But now...in the middle of the night, would be a perfect opportunity to

“Show me the map of nearby Doors,” I tell the Shard.

It opens. Most of the nearby cul-de-sacs were still filled with Doors. The entire river was also covered. Which should I do... I drum my finger. I make my decision, fling my packed backpack over my shoulder, and head to the front office.

“Name?”

The receptionist at the front office tapped her pen on the black faux-marble top. The blue carpet floor is spotless; the tinted windows are free of finger streaks. It was a facility that was very, very uncommon for this area. The room smells like vanilla and is pleasantly warm. The sound of hurried speech wafts from one of the rooms somewhere hidden in here. The receptionist tries her hardest to avoid my face

“Lawrence Able.”

“Lawrence...” She looks over a list she has in front of her, “Ah, Shard Holder? Looking to go out? Reason?”

She pulls out another piece of paper from her desk.

“Closing doors.”

“‘Diving,’ you mean.”

“Whatever.”

She scribbles some things on the paper and slides it across the counter and passes me the pen.

“Sign here.” She taps a line near the bottom. I scribble my signature.

In response, she hands over a radio.

“You’re required to wear this; just in case some orders come in.”

I nod.

She pulls the paper back and slides another paper across the table.

“Sign here.” She taps another line, and I sign. “Initial here.” L. A. I put it down.

She picks up her own radio.

“Corporal Garcia?” She spoke in it.

“Here.” Came a tenor’s voice in response.

“Report to the front office. You’re on Dive duty.”

“Shit; is it Oak again I can’t... I mean, yes ma’am.”

There’s a bit of laughter on the other end before the line goes quiet.

“He’ll be out front briefly with a truck.” She says as she pulls the paper away from me.

“Ah, alright. Thank you.” I mutter as I head out the door.

I set my bag on the ground and hook the radio to it before strapping it back on. An engine hums a moment later, and a pair of headlights peers behind me; though I could feel the vibrations in the air before it even nears; the slight tingling of the heated engines alerting me to its presence.

“Oh thank God it’s not Oak. Hi, I’m Renee Garcia.” The driver gets out and walks toward me with an outstretched hand, “You are Lawrence, yes?”

I nod and shake his hand. It’s cold and clammy.

“Ah, I saw you briefly when you were out of it, and helped take your dog out with William.”

“Really? Thank you?”

“So you’re already on your feet? Impressive. Sorry about the eh, uh...” Garcia scratches the cheek underneath his left eye.

“Ah, it’s alright. Need to get a patch...”

“Yeah... I mean.” He sighs, “Yeah, don’t want it to get infected anymore. Can you guys even get infected?”

I shrug.

“Ah, well. Probably not. Do you know that bullets can’t even pierce Oak’s skin?”

“How do you know?”

“Ah, well you know.” He clears his throat and hits the side of the truck. It was then that I noticed his hastily holstered revolver as he climbs back into the driver’s seat. “Let’s get going.”

“Alright....what’s your job here?”

“I’m to assist you.”

“Assist me how?”

“Get you coffee; make sure you’re not hit by cars, help you load up the loot from the dives. Keep the cash safe, and count the number of doors you close.”

“Is that last one necessary?”

“Yes. You’ll get moved up a rank after you close so many.”

“Ah. Well, let’s go. I’m getting antsy.”

Garcia nods and drums his finger on the metallic door as I set my bag and the spear in the back of the truck, and climb into the passenger seat next to him.

“Seat belt.”

I click the seat belt, and he pulls out. The front gate slides open by itself, and a pair of guards glance into the car as we pull out.

“Now where to?”

“Take a left up here.” I motion to the street coming up.

“Yes sir.”

The car turns left.

“Right here.”

He turns right into a little cul-de-sac.

“Here, park here.”

I motion to a sidewalk. He pulls over.

“Really? This close? Oak mostly goes out of town to do his late-night Dives.”

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“Well, I’m from this town. I want to make sure its people don’t die in five years.”

“You’re from here also? What high school did you go to?”

“Boulder.”

“Me too! What year?”

“...2010.”

“Really? I was 2016. Joined the Marines right after.”

We both hop out of the truck at the same time; I take up my bag and buckle it over my chest, and pick up the spear. Garcia talks my ear off as I walk to the closest door; a level seven that took the visage of a large white door at the very edge of a driveway on the ground as if someone had dropped it in the middle of carrying it. While walking toward it, I notice on one of the cement lampposts the picture of a German shepherd with the words, “MISSING,” printed boldly at the top. I push it open as Garcia is in the middle of a sentence, and welcome the ambiance of the wind rushing by in the blackness.

I step out into the upper loft of a wooden building next to a chimney. I glance by. The door I had stepped out of was a small grate attached to said chimney....this was familiar. Oddly so. I glance around. There’s no bed here. I suppose I hadn’t stepped back in time.

I could feel the presence of something beneath me, and I glance between the slats. Sure enough, a scrounging ratman is below me. My leg twitches and a trail of dust falls from the ceiling. Ah, here we go again.

The ratman’s head turns up; sees my shadow, grabs its weapon — a spear much like the one I have, and runs for the flight of stairs. I dart over to it on my end to block him off. The ratman climbs up to me in a matter of seconds, pulls back its arm, and shoots forward with the spear point.

As if I knew what he was going to do before he did it, I turn my hips so that the point of the spear passes through thin air rather than my gut, grab hold of the spear shaft, and pull it forward. The ratman nearly loses its footing at the force of the pull. I raise my foot and kick forward right into the forehead of the creature.

The ratman rockets back down the stairs; skipping off the wooden steps like a stone off the surface of a river; shattering them as it made contact with them briefly as the ratman somersaulted through the air. It collides against the wattle-and-daub wall at the end of the first fly and breaks through the mud-plaster and twig-woven wall.

Really? That seems excessive. I turn around and toss the spear over to the grate attached to the chimney, and head downstairs; stepping over the broke steps along the way. I stop at the end of the first flight of stairs and peer out of the hole. The ratman lay on the ground covered with the remains of the wall.

I hold up the Shard.

“What’s the goal for this door.”

“‘Dive,’” The Shard corrected.

“You too?”

“It’s a better term. More dramatic.”

“Fine, what is the goal for this, ‘dive.’”

“You know it already.”

“Destroy the altar?”

“Yep.”

I suppose with trillions of doors; a repeat was to be expected once or twice. I head down the rest of the stairs...there was an archer there, right? On the roof beyond this one? I should be careful. Even now I could feel the presence of something waiting to ambush me beyond the door. Luckily, I have a new angle of attack, and it gives me an opportunity to try something...

I pull the cane from my pocket and tap my forehead.

“Companion of mine, I require thy form.”

My entire body burns as the world begins to grow larger and larger. Soon, I find myself crawling near the ground, with vision in both of my eyes returning. Everything is clear; the shadows that clung to the corners of the debris on the ground had all but vanished, and everything was much warmer. I hurry over to a piece of broken glass on the ground and peer into it. Staring back at me in the reflection is the spitting image of Shadow. Except...not exactly. A small satchel-like backpack is strapped to my back, and the Shard had shrunk down into a bracelet around the right fore paw.

Where are my weapons? My clothes? Were they in the bag? They had to be, right? They weren’t scattered on the floor as I had feared. Good, that means I’d be able to use this spell with other people around.

The small backpack did nothing to hamper my movement as I took some time to adjust to walking on all fours; darting to and from beneath the remains of what had once been a table, squeezing in the thin gaps between the cabinets. If I could pair this up with spell use... I try to utter a spell, but all that came out of my mouth were quiet meows... I wonder once I learn to quick cast a spell if I’d be able to do it.

Once I had a handle on what this body was capable of, I head up the stairs once more and climb them to the first flight, and peer down. It isn’t that long of a drop, but at my size, it looks positively fatal. I have seen Shadow survive leaping from my roof, and it’s about the same height as this... I try to mimic how she got ready; lower my body as low as possible on my perch, and hop off; aiming for the soft body of the dead ratman below.

The wind whips by and howls past my pointed ears. It’s too late to make adjustments, so I just squeeze my eyes shut and let gravity take its course. I make my target and land with the softest thump imaginable. Shadows stick close to the wall, I slip into one and creep to the edge of the building. I can feel the presence of two... something there. They feel familiar to the ratman I had already killed, so I assume that’s the case. To confirm my suspicions, I chance a glance.

Two ratmen stand on either side of the door; one clutching a spear, and the other a large mace over its head; ready to bring it down on my head if I were to step through it. On the rooftop of the building across the cobblestone street a pair of archers with knocked bows pointed toward the door. I slip back into the shadows and creep around. Good thing I opted for this path rather than just choosing to burst through the front door.

I walk around the side of the house to the back, where the fogwall is. I mentally release the spell, and I find myself sitting on the grass with my face pressed against the fogwall. All my clothes were still on; my bag was still attached to my back, and I still clung to the spear and cane in my hand. I lean the spear against the wall, draw the kris and wield it in my left, and the cane in my right, and creep to the front.

“I allow the breath of the salamanders to flow through me,” I utter as I draw the rune in the air with my cane, and point the weapon toward the thatched roof on the other side of the cobblestone road where the pair of archers were.

Heated mana flows through my nose, and pulls toward my throat. I push it through the cane, and out. A streak of red blasts out, and collides against the dried thatch. The old straw quickly erupts into a pyre. The ratmen yip in response, and I hop backward just in time for the first of the pair by the door to cross the corner.

I point the kris forward.

“You Shades who live within these blades, and answer to these words. I let loose those awful wards, and send you to my prey.”

As I speak the words engraved in the metal blade glow bright purple, and as I finish the small rhyme, a being of the same color flows free from it and collides against the center of the oncoming ratman. The creature’s eyes roll to the back of its head and collapses into the grass.

An arrow whips by my face and tears a long streak across my cheek as it barely misses my head. One of the ratmen archers was busy trying to fight the fire, while the other nocked another arrow, and aimed the bow down toward me. Why not abandon the house? Why were they fighting to keep it from burning, unless...

“Dance for me, o’ daughters of the wind.”

A shell of wind wraps around me and knocks the arrow flying toward me away. Ah well, I’ll pay with the kris later. I sheathe the blade, and the light emitting from the shade that I could see from inside of the wind, and had just laid low the second of the doorside ambushers, vanishes.

“An arrow, o’ djinn.” I incant as I aim the cane toward the archer. I drop the Gust and the flaming wind arrow lets loose and slams against the creature.

Flame wraps the creature and quickly ignites it. It falls onto the thatch and rolls off the roof in a burning heap that collides against the ground. The first of the door-side ambushers; the spear holder, was just beginning to get his strength back. I run forward and plant a solid kick into the creature’s face. Its head whips back, and its neck snaps as it dies. The mace wielder was now standing and rushes me. I duck out of the way of the horizontal swing of its club. The metal head crashes into the wall of the building and punches through, and I draw the kris from its sheathe once more, and pounce forward, stabbing the ratman through its throat. It lets go of the mace and flails at me with its arm it gurgles, as I lay it low with a close-fist blow to its sternum. Bright red blood spews out of the hole in its gullet as it pulls itself into the fetal position, all that was left was the archer.

The lone ratman frantically pulls an arrow out of its quiver and fumbles with it; most of the arrows spill out on the thatch roof and roll off the side of the building.

“Bombard my enemies, O’ thou servants of Gob, the magnomious.”

A rock breaks free from the cobblestone ground and smashes the Ratman’s head like a watermelon. If my guess was right, the altar should be close to the roof. Why else would he put out the flames before they were spread? But just to be on the safe side I enter the building and search it after I gather the weapons of the dead ratmen and the golden rings they had on their tail; a total of seven golden rings altogether.

Much like the downstairs room of the other house; this one was a complete mess. Broken tables and chairs; doors torn off of cabinets, and a variety of other things strewn on the ground. Among the wreckage, a bright white bone catches my attention. I pull it out from beneath what had once probably been an ornate bookshelf and examine it.

There was still a bit of pink left on this bone; vertical gnaw marks lined it, but what struck me was the size. I place it against my leg, and sure enough, it’s long enough to fit a human femur. But why would it be here? The only explanation I could think of at the moment is that they had captured a wayward dogman and eaten it. That was the only thing in this area that I could see yielding a bone this size. I toss it to the ground, and once more make my way to the stairs, when another thing catches my attention near the foot of the stairs; a red dog collar that would have gone around the throat of a large dog back in our world, with a bone shaped tag on it that read, “Lucky.”

The realization of what this means strikes me, as a cold, foreboding terror sweeps through my body.