As Brad's eyes fluttered open once more, he found himself ensnared in a shroud of impenetrable darkness. It engulfed him, a bottomless abyss. His mind throbbed with a persistent ache. Initially, his faculties of hearing guided him through this obscure realm. Despite the absence of solid ground beneath his feet, he could discern the ethereal trickle of water, a feeble symphony that whispered in his ears. He inhaled deeply, allowing the damp air, heavy with the scent of age and decay, to fill his lungs. Alas, his olfactory senses failed to grasp any other fragrances.
Bereft of the guidance of scent, he sought to apprehend his surroundings through the delicate art of touch. Though denied the solace of direct contact, the chill of the stone sent ripples of apprehension down his spine. With cautious steps, he ventured forth in every conceivable direction, meticulously exploring the contours of his enigmatic confines. It was in that moment he realized he occupied a vast expanse, a cathedral of sorts, adorned with intricately sculpted stones that spoke of a craftsmanship beyond mortal hands.
He found himself amidst a meticulously arranged parade of colossal pillars, standing in perfect alignment. Gradually, he became aware that the sensations he experienced wove together into a vibrant tapestry of imagery. Like the elusive creatures of the nocturnal realm, his perception unveiled a remarkable spectrum of blues, greens, and whites that enveloped his surroundings.
The cylindrical columns ascended towards the graceful arching ceiling, each reaching a soaring height of no less than ten meters, converging to create grandiose arcades. He extended his hand, yearning to touch the monumental pedestals upon which the columns rested. Although his grasp eluded them, he discerned the presence of their tiered structures. Intricate inscriptions adorned their surfaces, mystical symbols etched upon the very fabric of each column, embellished with ancient runes.
"Do you recognize this place?" a voice resounded from above.
Brad lifted his gaze, fixating his eyes upon the suspended form of Ilberius. Desperately, he yearned for this surreal tableau to be naught but a fleeting nightmare. With a determined shake of his head, he conveyed his answer through silent resistance, vehemently denying any familiarity.
"The sands of time are slipping away, noble knight. I perceive it. As you acclimate to this realm, your connection to reality wanes," Ilberius cautioned.
"Do you revel in this predicament?" Brad inquired, his words dripping with sarcasm.
Ilberius emitted a piercing, derisive laughter that scraped at the knight's nerves. "Do you genuinely believe I am your adversary?"
Brad found himself in a quandary, his thoughts tangled like a thorny vine. While the knowledge of reaching Charlotta and the assurance of her partial safety brought him solace, an unsettling feeling lingered, stirred by the presence of the elf he had glimpsed at the sorceress's side. All he grasped was the dwindling of time.
"I surmise you hold me captive against my will. Perhaps because you find your own solitude rather wearisome," Brad probed the ethereal being.
"That notion is preposterous, knight. Trust me, if I possessed such capabilities, I would have ensnared Caleb instead. He, at least, is more garrulous and congenial than you," Ilberius retorted.
Brad's jaw clenched with determination. "Had you provided me with proper answers to my inquiries, I would have extended you more sincere treatment."
Ilberius surveyed his surroundings. "Very well, as you wish. I shall aid you to the best of my abilities on this deranged odyssey," he declared. "As long as my captive mind permits," he added, his voice fading into frailty.
When Brad heard those parting words, a flicker of doubt danced in his eyes, yet he refrained from probing further.
"Pray tell, where have we found ourselves?" Brad inquired, casting his gaze upon the elderly apparition.
"We stand within the depths of the Sunken Palace," Ilberius answered, his voice carrying an air of ancient knowledge. "A place whose legends may have graced your ears through the tomes of yore. 'Tis an archaic cistern hidden in the very heart of the hill that harbors the White Fortress. In ages past, it underwent a metamorphosis, becoming a grand necropolis. For a span of fifteen centuries, the denizens of New Barnachia reveled in their noble creation, placing the entrances to the enigmatic passageways leading to the Royal Tombs at the mouths of these enigmatic corridors."
"Aye, but what brings us to this place?" questioned Brad.
"Verily, my gallant knight, the answer resides deep within your being," Ilberius responded, his voice tinged with mystique. "In the recesses of your mind, a concealed solution beckons. 'Tis the sole cogent explanation that springs to mind."
Faced with a silence that belied any reply, Brad embarked upon a journey, propelled by vexation, drifting northward above the earthly plane. The knight had ventured some fifteen meters from their initial position when Ilberius discerned a peculiar phenomenon—the ground beneath them swathed in ethereal mists that swirled and ascended. "Halt!" he exclaimed, his voice resounding through the mystical haze.
Brad obeyed the command and cast a backward glance at Ilberius. His gaze traversed the ordered arrangement of catafalques nestled amidst the interstices of the columns. Each one radiated a delicate luminescence, casting a pallid gray glow. "What is occurring?" he inquired, his mind clouded with bewilderment.
"It seems you have disturbed the dormant ones," Ilberius responded, towering higher as he distanced himself.
"Damn it!" Brad erupted, his eyes scanning the encroaching phantoms. He reached for his sword, only to find it unresponsive. "Why am I unable to unsheath my blade?" he interrogated Ilberius.
"Because your sword lacks the enchantment," Ilberius retorted. "In the realm of the threshold, mundane weapons hold no sway," he appended.
"Then how shall I engage in combat with these entities?" Brad pressed on.
"By harnessing the object that rests upon your chest, naturally," Ilberius pointed out.
Brad beheld the resplendent medal, radiating brilliance upon his chestplate. As the specters, clad in ceremonial armor, hoisted their ceremonial swords and closed in on Brad, the medal quivered with anticipation, emitting an intensified luminosity. Brad seized the medal firmly, raising it aloft.
"Under no circumstances should you gaze upon the light," Ilberius cautioned, shielding his own eyes with his hands.
Brad mirrored the gesture, and in an ephemeral moment, a tremendous burst of light erupted, transmuting night into an ephemeral day. The specters were forcefully propelled towards the distant walls. Despite Brad's lowered head, the arcane radiance dispersed in all directions, engulfing his sight in blinding brilliance.
"Guard that medal vigilantly, noble knight, for it seems you shall require it on numerous occasions," Ilberius remarked, his countenance filled with delight as he beheld the specters strewn across the ground.
In due course, the specters reconstituted themselves, rising from the ground, and the mirthful expression upon the aged sage's face faded.
Brad clutched the medal tightly, his mind racing with possibilities. "What course of action should I take now? Should I brandish this medal like a formidable weapon and charge forth?" His gaze fixated on the emblem, weighing his choices.
Ilberius quivered as he observed the knight's intense stare and unwavering determination.
"Nay, do not deviate from your path. Direct your focus towards the tangible truths before you. Had those been infernal entities, they would have been repelled and devoured by the sanctified radiance. They are but vengeful spirits," Ilberius cautioned.
Though Brad yearned to embrace the wisdom of the aged specter, the shrill cries echoing through the expansive chamber unsettled his resolve, instilling a seed of doubt within him.
"This place serves as a juncture between two realms. Your presence here must be driven by the search for someone recently lost, a soul you mourn deeply. Delve into your past, noble knight," Ilberius pressed on.
"I cannot recollect," Brad confessed, his throbbing temples receiving the soothing touch of his hands.
Ilberius furrowed his brow, his mind immersed in contemplation. The knight's ethereal essence bore the marks of scorching wounds, testament to the potent enchantment of the medallion that had exacted its toll upon Brad. The burns resembled crevices in arid soil, multiplying with each fleeting moment. Ilberius discerned fractures manifesting in Brad's once unassailable astral integrity, reminiscent of the very trials the aged specter had weathered in ages past.
It mirrored the ceaseless tumult of a disordered spirit ensnared within an eternal vortex, a realm foreign to his nature.
The elderly apparition couldn't help but be consumed by a sense of empathy for the plight of this young man.
"In accordance with the wisdom bestowed by the renowned sage of my time, Dadallius; When all other paths have faded, follow the course of flowing water. Hasten towards the alternate gate!" Ilberius offered guidance, gesturing towards the northern direction. "And amidst this tribulation, concentrate unwaveringly on the resonance of your inner voice, noble knight," he beseeched.
With his thoughts scattered and no alternative but to rely on instinct, Brad surrendered himself to the cadence of the water's flow, stumbling forward in a northern direction, his sight impaired. The furious murmurs of the encroaching horde resonated behind him, their relentless advance unabated. "How many funerary crypts dwell within this accursed realm?" he questioned.
"Hundreds, maybe thousands" Ilberius replied. "These hallowed grounds do not reserve their embrace solely for monarchs. Countless nobles, revered priests, and theocrats lie interred here. Not all were men of virtuous intent."
"How utterly delightful," Brad retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
At long last, the duo arrived at an arched passage that descended to another level adorned with intricate balustrades. The course of the water became clearer at this juncture, its melody resonating through the air. Peering down from his vantage point, Brad struggled to discern the secrets veiled beyond the passage.
As Brad descended the semicircular staircase, poised to enter the passage, he abruptly halted upon witnessing Ilberius's wavering resolve. "Why do you hesitate?" he inquired with a furrowed brow.
Ilberius shook his head, his expression filled with uncertainty. "A peculiar sensation overtakes me. This threshold must not be crossed by me. It is too late for my journey. This is a path meant solely for your feet."
Caught in a dilemma, Brad shifted his gaze towards the gathering specters above the passage. It was the first time he beheld their decaying countenances, their timeless faces now unrecognizable. Oblivious to Ilberius's presence engulfed by their ethereal essence, their malevolent stares fixated solely upon the knight. They defied him.
In that very instant, Brad realized that they assaulted him because their eternal slumber had been disrupted. He was still among the living, an existence he mustn't forget. He had arrived at this place, though uncertain of the precise answer he sought, he would uncover it in due time.
He turned his gaze and beheld the ethereal stone bridge, slender and delicate, gracefully stretching beyond the passage's confines. On the distant side, a delicate beam of light emerged, its radiance calling out to him.
Lifting his eyes heavenward, he engaged in a silent communion, offering a prayer to the unseen forces. It was in this moment of reverie that his attention was drawn to the meticulously sculpted figures of a masculine and feminine winged angel, their forms adorning the apex of the arch with an enchanting smile playing upon their countenances.
"Surely, this is a fortuitous omen," he contemplated, infused with a hesitant but burgeoning sense of optimism.
With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, summoning every ounce of resolution within him. Stepping forward, he embarked upon that decisive stride, teetering between certainty and uncertainty, his belief unwavering that this path would lead him to the other side.
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* * *
It was as if he had been ensnared in the whirl of a childhood game, twirling swiftly on his own axis, only to abruptly freeze while the world carried on its dizzying dance. When Brad pried open his eyes, he was engulfed by that very sensation. If it were possible, he would have expelled the contents of his stomach right then and there. The chamber spun around him, yet amidst the swirling chaos, he discerned the presence of a bed, a nightstand, and a chair. Initially, he believed he was still confined within the same room, but the chamber continued its relentless rotation.
"Halt," a voice hissed from nearby, accompanied by a gentle hand resting on his shoulder.
Ilberius's intervention, an enchantment whispered, stilled the whirling tempest and mended the knight's sight. In the chair sat a nun, immersed in fervent devotion. Adorning the wall, a symbol of Orion, an intricate convergence of eight interwoven blades, held its place. Brad approached the bed, his heart recognizing the countenance of the young man nestled there, though altered by time, with ebony tresses cascading and a well-groomed beard. Overwhelmed, he took faltering steps backward.
"Do you recognize him?" Ilberius inquired, curiosity lacing his voice.
Brad, enveloped by a flood of memories, maintained silence, his lips forming a whispered invocation, "Maleckhie."
In that very moment, the door swung open, unveiling the entrance to the chamber, and two additional nuns crossed the threshold. One of them, none other than Lady Illaine herself, graced the room with her presence. Startled by the sight of the esteemed high priestess standing before him, the young nun, roused from her slumber, lost balance in a surge of elation, causing the chair to crumble beneath her as she rose abruptly.
The young nun, her face flushed with embarrassment, faltered, "I humbly implore your forgiveness," and hastily departed the room under Lady Illaine's guidance.
"As you behold, esteemed high priestess, as you have commanded, we maintain a vigilant presence by the young patient's side, day and night," Lady Illaine reassured, accompanied by the fellow nun who had entered the room alongside her.
Lady Illaine cast her gaze over the surroundings, her eyes lingering on Brad and Ilberius before encompassing the entirety of the room. "Suspend a dreamcatcher in this chamber. Restless vibrations assail my senses," she proclaimed. Then, tinged with a hint of desperation, she inquired, "Has there been any alteration in his condition?"
"No alteration whatsoever. It has remained thus for half a year," the other nun replied.
"Leave me alone with him. I shall beseech the divine on his behalf," Lady Illaine requested.
The other nun promptly adhered to her command, exiting the room and closing the door behind her. Lady Illaine drew the chair nearer to the slumbering youth's side.
"Oh, my dear child, Maleckhie. The hour has come for you to awaken. Awaiting your return, an expectant multitude," she whispered tenderly. "May Orion illuminate your path," she implored, rising from her seat.
Once more, the venerable high priestess surveyed the room before resuming her seat, opening her prayer book, and embarking on a silent communion.
Ilberius, unable to bear the weight of the suffocating silence any longer, finally shattered the solemn stillness. "Pray, tell me, how did you come to know this young man?" he inquired.
Brad approached Maleckhie once more, his gaze oscillating between the youthful figure and the venerable high priestess. "It was over half a year past. We sought solace in the grove near the foothills of the Black Fortress. Maleckhie, akin to myself, bore the burden of orphanhood. We both underwent training in the hallowed halls of the Temple Knighthood. Abandoned manors dotted the vicinity. We heard the piercing cry of a maiden and ventured into one of those forsaken abodes. What transpired thereafter is but a haze in my memory," Brad recounted.
"How do you mean?" Ilberius inquired, his countenance marked by bewilderment.
"I am simply unable to recollect the details. Is it not peculiar?" Brad voiced his frustration, his tone tinged with vexation.
"Reflect upon it, noble knight. Why are you here? Why have you chosen this very place, this very moment? There must be a purpose concealed within," Ilberius cried out, his words urging Brad to delve deeper into the mysteries of his existence.
"All that remains within my knowledge is that I departed from the Temple Knighthood six moons ago and sought admission into the illustrious Order of Illuen," Brad drew a deep breath. "Alas, I had forgotten about my dear companion Maleckhie," he exclaimed, his voice quivering with emotion.
"Ah, indeed, it could be as you say. You may find yourself ensnared in the realm of limbo, your mind shrouded by a forgotten occurrence. Now, any encounter that stirs echoes of that event could ignite a torrent of interconnected memories," Ilberius expounded.
"I do not repress anything. No, I adamantly reject this notion," Brad protested.
"Then perchance someone has forcefully imposed this upon you, employing the arcane arts. Could this Lady Illaine you mention be the culprit?" Ilberius queried.
"No," Brad objected firmly. "Lady Illaine would never stoop to such deceitful actions. You seek to plant seeds of doubt and perplexity within my mind, sorcerer. But I shall not succumb to your artifice."
Ilberius released a brief, mirthful chuckle. "Ah, naive knight. If I harbored intentions to deceive you..."
He allowed his words to linger in the air, hanging tantalizingly. Brad interjected with resolve, "Spare yourself the effort. I place no trust in wizards."
"A prudent stance indeed," Ilberius replied sarcastically.
"Yet still, it appears that I require your aid. Can you assist me in reaching Maleckhie? He, too, may be ensnared within this dimensional entanglement. Will you lend me your support, Ilberius?" Brad inquired, his tone carrying a glimmer of hope amidst his lingering skepticism.
The aged specter fixed a pensive gaze upon the youthful patient and Brad. "Could you perceive the visions that unfold before me, you would not yearn for this. Alas, I know your refusal to accept a negative response. Hence, I shall strive to provide aid and counsel. Nonetheless, should this trajectory persist, you shall plummet deeper still, my dear companion, and that is a perilous path," Brad was cautioned.
"Is there a glimmer of hope for his salvation?" Brad inquired, gesturing towards his comatose friend lying on the bed.
"Only the divine deities hold such knowledge," Ilberius replied with a wistful smile.
"Very well, then let our expedition commence," Brad declared, his hands intertwining with fervor.
"Dismiss not my cautionary words, noble knight. These odysseys shall exact a heavy toll on your wearied and famished body. Such is the unspoken limit of venturing within the realm of limbo. Yet, there exists an advantage, a shortcut, if you will. Within the recesses of your mind, you possess the ability to traverse any realm your imagination conjures. Summon forth the image of that grand mansion, with its every intricate detail. Focus on the threshold, the verdant garden, and the most vivid recollection within your grasp. Immerse yourself wholly in that fleeting moment, engaging all your senses," Ilberius imparted.
Brad sealed his eyes shut, delving deep into his mind's recesses to resurrect the minutiae of the derelict manor's garden. The initial tableau that materialized was a picturesque vision of sun-drenched mulberry trees, casting their protective shade on a resplendent spring day. He could vividly recollect ascending the arboreal heights at his comrade's urging, swaying the boughs toward Maleckhie's direction. The recollection surged forth—ripe mulberries tumbling upon the young man ensconced in his wheeled throne, staining their palms with their succulent hue, while the intoxicating fragrance engulfed their senses. And then, the anguished outcry shattered the tranquility.
Unleashing a frenetic sprint, Brad implored Maleckhie to muster his strength and keep pace to the best of his ability. The yawning threshold beckoned, wide open and devoid of hindrance. Unhesitatingly, Brad plunged into the heart of the edifice, pressing forward along the passageway that stood second to the right, having traversed the foyer. The once-glorious dome that crowned the ravaged abode lay reduced to smoldering ruin, and one of the encircling eucalyptus sentinels had breached the confines of the wide parlor, thrusting its presence upon the inner sanctum. And there, nestled upon the floor, was a disconsolate cherubic figure—a petite blond maiden—her forlorn weeping an echo of irreparable loss.
Suddenly, a shroud of impenetrable darkness descended upon the scene, casting an eerie pall. And there, stepping into the room, came Maleckhie. "What grim occurrence has transpired?" he inquired, his gaze focused on the young girl.
"They came for me!" the little girl shrieked, her trembling finger pointing at the encroaching shadows that encircled her.
Maleckhie regarded Brad with a cautious look, then surveyed their surroundings with vigilance. "There is no one present in this chamber," Brad whispered, meticulously scrutinizing every corner. Yet, an unsettling scent permeated the air, filling him with disquietude.
The darkness deepened, engulfing them in its ominous embrace. The anguished cries of the small girl reverberated, growing more intense. Brad turned to Maleckhie, his voice fraught with uncertainty. "Do my senses deceive me, or do these shadows possess an unsettling motion?"
Maleckhie fixed his unwavering gaze upon the shadows, tightening his grip, beckoning Brad to stand beside him. United, they formed a protective barrier around the desolate child, shielding her from the encroaching darkness. In a fleeting moment, Brad observed his friend's gentle touch upon the girl's delicate form, only to witness his visage drain of color. Maleckhie's pupils dilated in fear, his gestures frantic as he gestured at their surroundings. And in that very instant, Brad unsheathed his blade, his eyes squeezed shut, acutely aware of the ominous weight that pressed upon him, palpable and foreboding.
"Lead the way, Maleckhie!" Brad's voice thundered as he brandished his blade with unwavering determination.
"To the left! Now, to the right!" his companion's voice echoed, commanding his every move. "Dodge! Parry!"
Brad weathered a barrage of invisible strikes, the ethereal talons leaving indelible marks. Though unseen, the torment he endured was achingly real. With each wound, his shoulders and arms grew numb, robbed of their strength. The purity of his white garment gave way to a sea of crimson. Finally, overwhelmed by sheer exhaustion, he succumbed to the earth beneath him.
Amidst the chaos, he glimpsed Maleckhie rising, a fleeting glimmer of hope. Then, a radiant surge of light erupted, consuming the space around them. Maleckhie too crumbled, their gazes intertwining for a fleeting moment. The luster of Maleckhie's smile waned, replaced by an icy stare. It was the final memory etched in Brad's mind before darkness enveloped his senses.
* * *
He stood poised at the threshold of a stone bridge, its path stretching forth into an expansive flatland. Far beyond, a radiant beam of light beckoned like a tantalizing prize atop a treacherous staircase. The darkness enveloped both sides of the bridge, veiling the secrets hidden beneath. Faint echoes, ominous and unintelligible, reverberated in the distance, reaching his ears.
Now, he found himself suspended in the middle of that very stone bridge, compelled to steal a backward glance. The path he had traversed appeared distant, almost otherworldly. The elusive light ahead remained at an unyielding distance, unaltered by his progress. How many strides had he taken? How much time had slipped away during his journey? Time had eluded him, slipping through his fingers like sand.
"Forge onward," a voice whispered, barely audible yet full of significance. "Does this not align with the creed of your very existence, Brad?"
He raised his gaze, his eyes fixed upon the path that lay ahead. And there, standing resolutely before him, was his friend Maleckhie.
"Are you standing firm, unwavering?" Brad inquired, his voice laced with disbelief.
"Why does my stance surprise you, Brad?" responded the young man, his raven tresses framing piercing azure eyes, donned in the resplendent attire of the sacred knighthood.
"The last time I laid eyes upon you, Maleckhie, you were confined to a wheelchair. We stood amidst the ethereal enchantment of the Misty Grove. And then..."
"Then, a piercing shriek rent the air. We raced towards its source. But I, dear Brad, was never bound to a wheelchair. Has your sanity faltered?"
Brad's hand moved to caress his weary countenance, seeking comprehension amidst the labyrinthine haze. "I know not. The realms of my perception have been awry these recent days. My mind must have woven illusions," he murmured, his gaze penetrating the depths of his comrade's being.
Maleckhie's astral essence radiated a scintillating luminosity, casting a brilliant radiance that overwhelmed Brad's sight, leaving him momentarily blinded.
Brad queried in a hushed tone, "Pray tell, Maleckhie, do you comprehend your presence in this place?"
The young man turned, his countenance serious, and pointed towards the radiant beam of light. "Ever since the fateful day when I succumbed amidst the clash with the ethereal specters, I have been confined here. Fret not, dear comrade, for I fare well. I am but a guardian of the Luminous Portal, biding my time," he proclaimed with a touch of pride gleaming in his azure eyes.
"I believe it is my path to tread," Brad declared.
Maleckhie took a measured step back, assuming a resolute posture. "I cannot grant you passage, my loyal friend," he asserted with unwavering resolve.
"Maleckhie, I implore you, I must escape this realm," Brad protested, yet he hesitated to confront his stalwart companion. His physical strength waned, leaving him barely able to maintain his stance.
"Brad, have you cast your gaze upon the looking glass?" Maleckhie queried.
"Do I appear as one who has done so?" Brad retorted, his tone laced with skepticism.
"Brad, I beseech you, gaze upon your own reflection," Maleckhie insisted, and in an instant, a grand mirror materialized betwixt the two, extending from floor to ceiling.
Brad stood in silence, his gaze fixed upon his reflection in the mystical mirror. His locks of hair and his once-trimmed beard had become a chaotic tangle. The pristine white fabric of his linen shirt lay in tatters, unable to conceal the intricate runes etched upon his chest, visage, neck, and arms. Every exposed inch of his flesh bore the enigmatic markings, pulsating with a life of their own. They coiled and twisted, captivating his gaze. The valiant knight, confronted with an unprecedented terror, found himself petrified, unable to move. In an instant, the mirror vanished without a trace.
"Brad, you have been marked," Maleckhie pronounced, his voice heavy with sorrow. "You must retrace your steps and confront this dire predicament."
"I cannot turn back," Brad responded, his voice quivering with trepidation.
Once again, he cast a forlorn glance behind him. The passage he had traversed appeared distant, barely discernible as a mere speck. He ran his fingers through his disheveled, oil-laden locks in a futile attempt to regain composure. His gaze fell upon his hands, now stained with crimson. "I am ensnared in a trap," he uttered with hopeless resignation.
"Absurdity has no place here, Brad. No force can confine you. It was your valiant intervention that rescued us from those abominable phantoms haunting that manor. Both I and Christine owe our lives to you. Without your presence, our existence would be but a fading ember."
"Christine?" Brad interjected, his memory veiled in uncertainty.
"Yes, does the recollection of the little girl elude you?"
"Dimly," Brad confessed, his thoughts entangled.
"Your mind is entwined in chaos, an affliction I perceive. Now, I beseech you, Brad, to grant me a favor."
"What would that be?" Brad sought clarification.
"When the veil of slumber lifts, seek out Christine. Her extraordinary aptitude enables her to discern ethereal beings that transgress this plane. The entity that relentlessly pursues you hails from realms beyond. I have seen its presence."
"Understood," Brad murmured, his gaze shifting fleetingly towards the direction that held Maleckhie's unwavering attention.
"Moreover, I implore you, Brad, until you vanquish this entity, abstain from revisiting this realm. Alas, it is here that your vigor wanes most grievously," Maleckhie cautioned, his smile conveying heartfelt concern.
Brad nodded, acknowledging the gravity of the situation.
"Now, depart," Maleckhie commanded, approaching Brad with measured steps.
"And where shall I venture?" Brad inquired.
"I apologize, for your capacity to choose appears compromised. Shall I assume this responsibility on your behalf?" Maleckhie posed the question.
Brad nodded assent, relinquishing the burden of decision.
"We shall reunite," Maleckhie pledged, embracing his longstanding comrade with an ardent embrace.
And in an unforeseen instant, Maleckhie propelled Brad towards the abyss that yawned, seemingly bottomless, awaiting his descent.