I freestyle swim over to the iron rungs stuck into the wall. Pulling myself up is hard. My muscles ache, but there is nothing completely debilitating to my condition. One of my shoulders hangs slack, so I ram it against the wall until I hear it pop back into place. Too much adrenaline courses through my body to feel anything more than a dull ache radiating through my body.

A rhythmic tapping moves down the hall of the aqueduct; passing by the spot where I had fallen into the water. Perhaps the Rat mage thought I was dead, and perhaps it couldn’t hear the splashes of my swimming over the constant hum of the river. I pull myself up to the edge of the canal and peak. It approaches the wall of fog; one of its hands still clutching at its head, while the other grasped the end of its cane; tapping it along the ground as it limped toward the wall of fog.

More than likely, its next objective would be to ensure that Lawrence was dead. It couldn’t cast a spell right now; as its brain was mana-locked, and its only way across the divide was a destroyed bridge. What was it going to do? The closest bridge was beyond the wall of fog. It reaches underneath its white, flowing robes, and pulls out the same black, single-edged curved dagger that it had used to sacrifice the other Rat for the Fire Demon. It plunges the knife into the Fog above its head and pulls down. The blade pierces and slices through it like it were cloth, and it steps through.

A lot of things that had felt wrong about this door clicked into place. How many, ‘holes,’ in the wall did he open up? How many of the countless Rats that had attacked us weren’t originally a part of this section? It was all his doing. I pull myself up to the edge of the canal, as the Rat slowly approaches the bridge. I hop the gap between the sides of the Canal. My quiver was still empty of javelins, but there were plenty of things on the ground that could be used as a replacement. I bend down and pick up the nearest one that hadn’t been reduced to cinders.

The walls shake as the thrown spear shaft cuts through wind and sound. The Rat barely has time to turn its head toward me before the javelin rips the head from its neck. The apostle’s body manages to stay upright for a moment before falling to the ground in a pool of red.

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“How long do we have to leave?” I ask the emerald sphere on the Burl.

“Fifteen minutes.”

Plenty of time. I approach the body of the Rat mage, and shudder as I pass through the veil torn apart by the apostle’s blade I shudder. It was like passing through a thicket of spider webs hung over a cemetery gate. On the edge of my hearing, even through the earplugs I wear, the whispering screams of many hissed at me for my trespass. I approach the corpse of the Rat and rifle through its body. The dagger was still within its grasp and had to be pried from its clenched fingers. The same with the cane.

The dagger shimmers like volcanic glass as I turn it over in my hand. I remove the sheathe from the creature’s belt. This could be useful. If ever I get stuck inside a door, I’d be able to live at least. With the knife, I slice through the creature’s segmented tail and pull off the cluster of rings. They were made of the same type of material as the dagger. I’ll give the rings to Lawrence. Maybe I should take the cane as well? Hard to say. I think his staff turned to ash...

I pick it up just in case, stuff the rings in my pocket, and fasten the dagger to my belt. My whole body feels as if I had just been sunbathing naked on top of a mountain on a sunless day. Luckily, the quick soak in the water did wonders. The Burl was grafted into my very flesh and bones, always, and water helped repair both. As long as it weren’t an immediately fatal injury, I would recover in full after a short soak. Still, there was some damage that lingered. I would take a quick bath when we got back. I leap over the canal, make my way over to Lawrence, and press my fingers against his neck. It is faint, but there’s a pulse.

Black burns cling to his skin, and parts of the chain he wore had grafted onto his body. The sole of one of his shoes had been blown out, and the skin on that foot was completely blackened. There was no pooled blood, however. That was, perhaps, a good sign. I see evidence of some sort of wound to his shoulder being cauterized. I’ll call Ortega once we get out of here. Perhaps he’ll know of a healer that can help. If not, we needed to somehow get him to a hospital.

“Let’s go, big guy,”

I say as I grab him by the collar; taking a fistful of torn chain and torn cloth, I hoist him off the ground, to rest upon my shoulder. He’s heavy, but not too heavy. I had invested nearly all of my points from the time this all began into my strength and stamina, after all. I toss his bag into the swirling black first before stepping in, keeping a heavy hand around his legs so that he didn’t fall out of my grasp.

The door vanishes, and the two of us are left in the dried canal; orange evening bursting through the line of tall firs that blocked out the view of the freeway.