Oliver ran through the fortress, the sounds of battle growing more distant with each frantic step. Undead, necromancers and mercenaries flooded the ancient stronghold. Some set up defensive positions in the halls while others rushed outside. None of them seemed too concerned with Oliver, which was fine by him.

He turned a corner and passed by the Lich Cult’s barracks. Many necromancers in training or hired hands were still putting on their gear. Crystal tipped staffs glinted in the candlelight as grim-faced men and women slapped on armor or fastened blades to their belts. The whole scene reminded Oliver of Lonelen’s first battle with the demons. A memory that still chilled his bones.

“Where are you going?” came a silky voice on the edge of agitation.

“Away,” Oliver responded, doing his best to push forward.

Nali stepped in front of him, her two death knight bodyguards standing like sinister statues at her back.

The woman had been a bother since he first arrived. She was one of three senior necromancers at the fort, and she was the one who interrogated Oliver upon his arrival. Despite handing over the powerful artifact, The Soul of Damnation, to her, she still suggested the cult execute him. She said he couldn’t be trusted, and even if she was right, it still annoyed him.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something important right about now?” Oliver asked.

Nali smirked. “I’m waiting for the others.” The fortress walls shook, dust falling from the rafters. “Lord Calhaven wants us to eliminate the leader of these uninvited guests.”

Oliver didn’t doubt Nali and the other necromancers were powerful, but even they wouldn’t stand the slightest of chances against that satyr monstrosity outside. It was like looking at a God. Oliver shivered, memories of the laboratory flashing before his eyes. Perhaps the crazed doctor and his attempts to create an artificial God weren’t so mad after all.

“Well, I wish you luck. I will be making my exit.” Oliver again went to move past Nali, but her death knights formed a barrier.

A few of the other necromancers and mercenaries stopped what they were doing, the air growing tense.

“Do you really want to do this? Here, and especially right now?” Oliver asked. He hadn’t used any of his unique skills yet, which meant he still had two uses of each. With [Phase] alone, he could slip past her. And if he had to, his fourth and secret unique skill would be enough to force his way through.

She tilted her head to side, then clicked her tongue. “A fight with you would only be a drain on our resources. But know that if you ever set foot here again, I will kill you myself.”

I sincerely doubt you’ll still be around for that. “A fair compromise. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Oliver delivered his finest mock bow to date and then scampered past the crone and down the hall.

As much as he wished to see her and the others flattened under that satyr’s hoof, he had to make haste. Not much further now. The escape tunnel was just ahead, tucked away in a secluded corner of the fortress. But as Oliver drew nearer to his salvation, he overheard the grumble of dwarven voices.

“Shut it,” one said. “Or you’ll be going out the front with the others.”

“Fine,” a gruff voice responded. “But where is Alveth? He and the rest should have been here by now.”

Oliver stepped around the corner and was met with several sets of uncertain eyes.

“What’s this then?” one of the dwarves said, tugging at his beard. In his hand was a strange metallic tube, a metal ring about its bottom. The stunted man looped his finger within the ring, and Oliver spotted a trigger there. Others might have thought it was some kind of crossbow, but the air tasted of the demon’s blasting powder. He’d heard rumors they were making weapons with it, and if he had to guess, the length of metal tucked against the dwarf’s shoulder was one such device.

“I know you,” a fat bellied dwarf said, muscling to the front. “Oliver Swink, or am I mistaken?”

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Oliver adjusted his shirt, his fingers damp from soaked sweat. “I see my reputation precedes me.” He took a half step forward. “You see, I need down this particular tunnel and I will no longer tolerate any obstacles.” This gathering of dwarves would not move for him, that much he could already tell. But all that meant was that he had to move them by force.

The fat dwarf bellowed, his fellows following suit. “You’re reputation? That you’re a slimy worm, not fit to be stepped on? Yes it does ‘proceed’ you.”

Two of the dwarves raised their metal tubes at Oliver, demonic runes glowing on the long barrels.

“Let me through!” Oliver cried.

They stood firm.

This is your last chance. “Either let me through, or I cut my way out!” He’d lost his weapon when the satyr launched his first attack, but something in his voice must have given the dwarves pause. They froze, a few looking away from him and into the darkness beyond.

He smirked. His way out was finally within reach.

But then someone came rushing from within the tunnel. His hair was milk white, and his skin pale. His blade whipped out and deflected a strike, but his eyes were latched onto Oliver.

His body sunk, the icy chill of dread seizing his limbs as recognition flashed into his mind.

“Oliver,” the man growled, fangs bursting from his mouth, his crimson eyes narrowed with murderous intent.

Without thinking, Oliver ran around the dwarves and down a dimly lit hall on the opposite side of the chamber. He had no idea where he was going, but he had to move. The cries of death and battle soon resounded behind him, and he nearly slipped as the corridor made a sudden turn. With fire in his lungs, he sprinted for the door ahead. It was wide and oval in shape, with a cracked gap in the stone above it, a bit of pale light poking through. But as Oliver drew closer, his eyes picked out the snaking shape of iron chains. They wrapped around themselves in a twisted mess across the door’s handles, forming a great knot that dangled near the grime smeared floor.

Sliding to a halt, Oliver pulled on the chains, but no amount of tugging would be getting this door open. With no other choice, he turned on his heels, ready to find another way out.

But Darian was right behind him.

He activated his unique skill [Phase] and passed through the door. The chamber beyond was massive, a series of pillars disappearing into the darkness on both sides. A naked chandelier dangled above, the room lit by a strip of starlight from a hole in the far wall.

Oliver glanced behind himself just as something smashed into the door. It rattled on its hinges but held firm, another blow sending waves of dust to the floor. It shook once more but then lay still. Silence settled in and Oliver slowly backed away. The door was thick and expertly built. Even a bone golem would have trouble smashing its way through.

His eyes adjusting to the light, he spotted the outline of another door at the other end of the chamber. With his heart pounding in his throat, he sprinted for it. Once he was about halfway there he stopped, a chill running down his spine.

It was only at the edge of his hearing, but he swore he heard the flutter of wings.

He spun, a dark shape falling from the crack above the far door. The hole was too small for a man to fit through, even if someone was capable of jumping that high. But something was in the room with him, he could feel it.

“You’ve run as far as you’ll ever go, Oliver,” came a voice from the shadows.

Oliver glared into the darkness, but then the voice appeared behind him.

“I’ve thought of you each time, did you know that?”

He backed toward the center of the room, spinning, his eyes straining to see, to make out some shape in the gloom. “Each time?” he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Each time I’ve fed.”

The hair on Oliver’s neck shot up and his body screamed at him to flee. But then he saw him, standing only a few strides away, his dark armor shrouded in shadow.

“I’ve no quarrel with you,” Oliver stammered, circling away. “That fat bastard and Harper had it coming. I only did what I had to do.”

Darian laughed, the sound bone dry. “Gustan was a kind man, and he deserved better. But Harper? It would take more than a rat like you to kill her.”

So, the reports weren’t wrong. She really is still alive. “Still.” Oliver gulped, his arms raised, his hands open to show he wasn’t armed. “Why not let me go? That was all in the past.” He looked the blood drinking beast up and down. He’d hardly escaped during their first encounter and Aspirants did nothing but grow in strength. If they were to fight again under normal terms, Oliver wouldn’t stand a chance.

“It was all in the past, this is true.” Darian strode forward, the air split by the sound of drawn steel. “But even if I could forgive you for killing Gustan, I can’t let you leave.”

Oliver glanced at the wall behind Darian. He had one use left of [Phase] and two uses for his other unique skills. He could try and go through the wall, but the fort was built on a mountainside. For all he knew, beyond that wall was nothing but a sheer drop. No, and he hated to admit this, but he would have to stand and fight.

“You called me a rat, correct?” Oliver lowered his stance and touched the power deep inside him. “Then let me show you how a cornered rat fights.”