Now, Manila
Lilah’s sigil pulsed as if in time with a beating heart.
The gray gloom swirled away from Eron like mists in the breeze.
It was working.
He sprinted down the street, dodging rusted wrecks and collapsed buildings.
Time ticked away in his mind. An ever-present weight on his broad shoulders.
How many months had he felt this?
He had to hold on. Had to withstand the darkness slowly closing in around him, snuffing out the bright, burning light that had once lived inside. A force that had pushed him relentlessly to travel the globe and help anyone he could. He had fought terrible monsters and worse people. Seen more tragedy and terror to last many lifetimes. Through it all he never once stopped moving, acting, fighting.
Relentless.
Until he finally went to his people’s homeland. Where an evil entity somehow took away his greatest strength. Mocking him at every turn. Denying the freedom of death to so many.
There truly were worse fates.
The sigil pulsed.
Eron glanced at the panel in his hand.
Curious.
He tried to time it with the beating of his own heart.
Different.
Was it Lilah’s?
Her life force flowing through her magic?
Likely, if what he knew of such things applied in this case.
Wytchraven would be very interested in meeting the young Sigilist.
The thought of her was unwelcome.
He was uncertain if he’d ever see her again.
Focus on the now. On what he could do. On what he must.
A pile of ruined vehicles blocked the road.
Perhaps remnants of his relatives work to claw back the city from the monsters and bad people during the early post-spires years. They had established a reasonable amount of safety and order when the gray fog had emerged from nothing to take them and all that they had accomplished away.
Eron cleared the barricade in one bound, cracking the asphalt upon landing.
He ran through the streets faster than a car, yet he still felt time slip away.
Too slow.
His fears came true when he reached the sanctuary.
The sigil on the outer gate was dead.
He jumped over and what he saw made his heart sink.
The wards had been broken in his fight, if it could be even called that, with the party that had come from outside the fog. He had patched up the wall and Lilah had redone her work, but something to do with the broken outer wall of his grandparents’ home must’ve weaken the protections.
The large, painted sigil no longer glowed.
It stood dull, lifeless.
“No…” Eron whispered.
He didn’t bother with the door. He cradled the glowing panel protectively and charged through the wall.
The gray gloom swirled away from him.
It had invaded, violated the sanctuary.
He could see nothing beyond a few feet around him.
He rushed up the stairs, taking them in a couple of bounds.
Hope, he clung to it.
There was still a chance.
One chance that the people were still alive.
Were still free.
A soft light glowed on a bedroom door.
Tendrils of gray appeared to reach out toward it, but recoiled at the last.
Eron let out a long breath before opening the door.
“Quick Cut!”
Eron caught the blade angled for his neck with his free hand.
“Nicely done, Edwin,” Eron said, “but you didn’t confirm your target. Always know who or what you’re cutting.”
“Sorry… I, uh, wasn’t sure if you were the fog or bad guys,” Edwin said. “And… uh… obviously I can’t hurt you…”
Eron released the blade. Thought about it for a moment. “Just be more aware next time.” He scanned the room, noticed that there were a few people missing.
“The fog got them,” Edwin whispered. “We didn’t notice it when it got inside. They were in the kitchen, preparing food. Got cut off—” the teen’s voice broke. “Rest of us managed to get up here just in time.”
“We’re going to get out of here and get to safety,” Eron addressed the room. “Don’t bring anything except weapons and basic gear.”
The portable ward didn’t appear to have a large radius and he needed to get everyone out in one go.
“We’re need to move as one, tightly packed group with this in the middle,” he held up Lilah’s sigil. “Kids,” he regarded the three children, “who wants a piggyback?”
They stared at him wide-eyed from behind a parent or guardian.
“Sorry, we don’t have time for this,” Eron said.
He pointed at the boy for the piggy-back reasoning that the kid wouldn’t want to be carried like a princess, which he assigned to the two girls.
A girl cradled in each arm meant he couldn’t hold the portable ward.
He singled-out the steadiest adult, a middle-aged woman and handed it to her. He didn’t need to tell her to carry it like the priceless treasure it was.
“I’m right behind you,” Eron said as he ushered the woman into the hallway. “Don’t worry. That thing kept the fog away during my entire run here.”
The woman shook, but steadied herself as she stepped out of the room.
The gray dissipated away from the pulsing sigil.
“Okay, the rest of you form up,” Eron said.
They tentatively filed out of the room and surrounded the ward-bearing woman.
Eleven people all together, huddled shoulder-to-shoulder, front-to-back, with barely any space between them.
The woman held the ward over her head at Eron’s order so he could keep an eye on it.
The pulses had grown faster, but it had expanded its radius of protection to encompass the entire group.
He had been concerned since it had only extended a few feet from his body when he had run solo.
“Okay, we can do this, just like a stupid game at a stupid team-building exercise,” Eron said.
Their first obstacle… stairs.
Near disaster struck almost immediately.
A man tripped on the second step down and pitched forward.
The fog swirled eagerly to embrace him.
Edwin’s hand darted out just in time to grab the back of the man’s shirt.
Wordless shouts of fear filled the silence.
More hands grasped on to Edwin to keep both of them from falling into the fog.
The older girl in Eron’s arms began to tear up.
“We’re okay,” Edwin called out in relief.
“He’s fine, we’re okay,” Eron soothed. “Slow and steady,” he eyed the beating sigil. Had it quickened?
They managed to reach the lower landing when the whispers began.
Half-seen shapes flowed around them in the thick mist.
There wasn’t a man, woman or child that hadn’t lost someone to the fog.
Everyone heard a voice they recognized.
Accusations of abandonment.
Entreaties to join them in a place without fear or worry.
Threats of a fate worse than death if they didn’t listen.
“Ignore them,” Eron said calmly. “None of you are to blame. The fog did all this. To give in to the lies is that worse fate. Lilah’s ward shines on us. If it wasn’t then this evil wouldn’t be trying to trick us with mere whispers.”
The dark words dogged them with each agonizingly slow step.
The ward pulsed and it seemed to get brighter as if struggling to keep the gray at bay.
Join and be safe.
Keep all safe.
Only as one can all be safe.
The words filled Eron’s head.
It was nearly overwhelming.
He focused on the girls in his arms, the thin, trembling arms around his neck and drowned the words out with silent expletives.
“Head for the hole in the wall,” Eron directed them towards the front wall. The door was much too small to fit the tightly-packed group.
“Where? I can’t see anything through the fog,” Edwin said.
“The front of the house. Where I damaged it throwing that asshole into it.”
Shuffling steps that continued to be agonizingly slow finally brought them close enough for the sigil’s light to illuminate the hole.
Out they went.
“Head for the van,” Eron urged.
They walked into the courtyard.
The small vehicle was parked just in front of the sliding gate.
“There’s eleven of us. We can’t all fit inside,” a man said.
“Ten,” Eron corrected. “I’ll be pushing and you’re all going to squeeze in.”
He ushered everyone into the van making sure that the woman holding the sigil sat as close to the center as possible with the kids huddled around her or on her lap.
The fog pushed in close. He could almost feel it tickling the back of his neck as he stood outside the driver’s window.
“We’re not going to be going more than twenty miles an hour. Visibility range is shit. I’ll do my best to look through the window but you’ll have the best view of incoming obstacles. Slam on the brakes, honk on the horn to let me know,” Eron said.
Stolen story; please report.
“Where are we going?” the man asked.
Eron considered it for a moment. “Main sanctuary.” The fact that they hadn’t been able to take any supplies with them would be a strain on the other sanctuaries and he didn’t want to risk making multiple stops relying on the portable ward. He didn’t know what the strain of maintaining it was doing to Lilah.
“I’ll get the gate,” Eron steeled himself.
As soon as he stepped out of the ward’s protection and into the gray a form took shape behind him.
He couldn’t get bogged down.
He dashed forward as a punch grazed the back of his head.
“That girl can’t keep this up much longer.”
“Yes, she can, Tito Carlos.” Eron saw the metal gate a few feet in front of him.
A powerful grip suddenly yanked him back by the back of his neck and spun him around.
“You should’ve escaped when I told you.”
There was something like genuine anger in his uncle’s eyes.
“It grows stronger while she grows weaker. Don’t you see? Your safe spaces dwindle. Now… your doomed. Just like the rest of us.”
His uncle struck with an overhand right.
Eron spun with it, grabbing his uncle’s arm and hurled him into the gate.
The metal crumpled around his uncle as they both went crashing out into the gray-shrouded street.
Eron hustled back to the van.
Back to the ward’s protection.
He pushed and tried to ignore the feeling of hands grasping just behind him.
The whispers in the mist followed him all the way back.
----------------------------------------
“How long have we been here?” Domeric said.
“I’m not sure. I’ve slept and woken up seven times, but I have this feeling that there’s something wrong with time in this place,” Samson said.
“I’ve counted seven times too, but I can’t remember exactly how long since we first entered the fog,” Domeric said. “It must’ve been less then a day to end up at the house with the wards and that… guy…” The memory of the impossibly strong man killing Irvin and Ben Ben with an almost casual air returned. It had been like he hadn’t even truly intended it.
“The senator is going to be upset we got his boy killed,” Samson said.
“It was his own damn fault,” Paz said. “Besides, that sick fucker caused more headaches than he was worth. I’d bet the senator will be glad he won’t have to deal with Irvin anymore.”
“Maybe, deep down, but he’ll have to act on it,” Samson warned. “He’d look weak otherwise. You can’t just let your son getting killed go without some kind of punishment to those responsible.”
“Then go after that superstrong guy. We didn’t do shit,” Paz said.
“He can’t,” Samson sighed with the air of someone sick of explaining the obvious. “That guy is way too strong to go after. Which leaves us.”
“None of this matters if we can’t get out of here,” Domeric said. “So, less then a day to get to that house… another two, three days there, then straight here for the next seven…”
“I thought we had only spent two days questioning those people,” Samson said.
“See, that’s what’s weird. I can’t be sure,” Domeric said. “What do you two think?” he eyed the two young women.
“Dunno,” Paz shrugged. “I leave that stuff to the nerd,” she gestured toward Samson.
Predictably, Dolorita remained silent, her face was a cold mask.
Domeric’s gaze darkened.
“Fine,” Paz growled. “I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I’m with Samson on the time we spent at the other place. Any longer than two days and it would’ve been a bigger pain to keep Irvin away from the women. I would’ve remembered that.”
“Agreed,” Dolorita said.
“I think the most important question is how much longer will the magic signs on the walls keep the fog from coming in here,” Samson said.
“That’s what I don’t get. Those people said that monsters come out of the fog to take you, which only happened when we first came into the city. We haven’t been bothered the other times we’ve gone through it,” Paz said.
“Intelligent,” Samson said.
Domeric nodded. “It has to be. It used us to gain access to that other house.”
“Maybe the more important question is does it still have a use for us? Or are we on the menu once the magic protecting this place runs out?” Samson said.
“Who says it’ll run out?” Paz said.
“Magic always runs out,” Samson said.
“Stay and wait for the fog to take us or make a run for it.” Domeric held no illusions on their ability to do the latter. They had entered the city with a much larger group. Only four remained.
“At least there’s plenty of food and water. Not starving to death was one of my goals in life,” Paz said. “If the creepy fog wants to take me then it can try. I’ll show it how strong I am.”
“That’s the spirit,” Samson grinned.
Paz shot him a rude gesture.
“We’ll wait as long as we can. It’d be stupid to leave a safe place,” Domeric said.
“I’ll keep studying the magic symbols. Maybe I can replicate them. Put them on a piece of table or something like that, so we can use it to walk out of this place,” Samson said.
“I told you. Why don’t we just cut them out of the walls?” Paz said.
“And I told you that is likely to disrupt the magic,” Samson said.
“A last resort,” Domeric said.
Samson hesitated. “Yeah, only if we have no other choice. If I sense the magic is close to running out.”
Outside the home the sigil's glow dimmed ever so slightly.
----------------------------------------
The gray fog that had engulfed the entirety of Metro Manila was an impossible sight.
Cal knew that the entire area was close to 240 square miles and from the looks of it the fog had expanded further beyond those boundaries.
The outer edge swirled, gray wisps the size of buildings reached out like the tendrils of an alien creature reaching for more.
More what?
Cal didn’t know and he couldn’t tell.
The fog had proved impenetrable to his powers.
He had soared above looking for anything.
The top of a tower poked out of the fog.
He flew closer.
Five floors were all that was visible.
“I’ve found a possible insertion spot,” Cal said into the comms.
“Just as you expected?” Demi replied.
“Top five floors of the tallest building in the city.”
“Copy that. You find anything else?”
“Nothing. Just like we were afraid of. I can’t see anything inside. It’s an opaque wall… well… blob.” He wondered if it extended below ground. Something he’d find out later.
“Understood. If you’re finished scouting then Sgt. Butcher requests your presence. They’re at—”
“Thanks, but no need for directions. I know where they are.”
Cal zoomed over the gray mass at a healthy distance. He located the rangers dangerously near the edge of the fog. Curiously, they were located in what looked like a gouge in the leading edge. A nearly perfect semi-circular cut, as if someone had taken a giant hole puncher to it.
“What’ve you got?” Cal said as he landed.
“See for yourself,” Sgt. Butcher gestured to the center of the large mound the rangers were gathered on.
“You’ve found giant eggs.”
The three eggs were ovoid, with a dirty-white, craggy texture. They came up to Cal’s waist.
“We were going to destroy them, but with monsters and magic being what they are… I decided to call you in,” Sgt. Butcher said.
“Reasonable. They could explode or whatever creature is inside might come out fighting. One second.” Cal extended his telepathy and scanned the eggs. Heartbeats. Thoughts somewhere between human and animal. Dreams of a world beyond the shell filtered through a newly-formed mind just awakened to self-consciousness. “There is no threat,” he said reluctantly. “However, the shell is extremely tough. You’ll only damaged your weapons and waste ammo.” He raised a hand toward the clutch.
“Wait!” Ambrose said. “Um… sir. The monsters inside… I want their heads. I mean, if you can keep them intact I can take their heads and use them for abilities.”
“That’s a little weird, but… okay,” Cal shrugged.
He cracked the eggs open with telekinetic hands, which he was instantly thankful for as soon as he saw what sort of creatures were inside.
A long, serpentine body of mottled grays, greens and brown with what looked like fins along the top and bottom of the tail end and in other strategic locations. The creature’s heads were draconic in appearance.
“Oh, thank God,” Cal muttered. “Not snakes.”
The creatures came sloshing out in a disgusting mix of clear, mucus-like liquid and an attached, blood-streaked egg sac.
Cal floated off the ground before the mixture and creatures could touch his armored boots. He sensed their lives slowly slip away. They were much to young to survive outside their protective shells.
“More like a dragon-snake,” Smores said. The young man’s eyes flashed inquisitively.
Cal didn’t need telepathy to know that Smores’ mind was already working through the possibilities of what they could do with the slowly dying creatures.
“I think it’s an ibingan,” Rai said. “Which, I suppose is like a dragon-snake. Although the stories say that they are not just a simple creature, but also partially a spirit of water. Rivers, lakes, oceans.”
“I do feel magical energy coming from them,” Smores said. “Two-toes?”
“Same,” Two-toes replied.
“Weird ass mages,” Mouthy said. “You think there’s magic shit with everything.”
Ambrose struggled to stretch one out as he readied his hinalung knife.
“That’s a baby? It’s like ten feet long,” Hardhat’s face twisted with disgust.
“Close to fifteen.” Cal’s helmet gave him the measurement.
“Ambrose, one second,” Smores ventured.
The tall Headhunter stabbed his leaf-shaped blade into the ground and regarded Smores expectantly.
“When you take heads what happens to the rest of the body?” Smores said.
“Nothing. It’s basically meat,” Ambrose said.
“Perfect,” Smores said.
“What are you thinking?” Sgt. Butcher said.
“That this could a good opportunity to test what effects consuming magical sustenance might have on us. Especially, since we’ve been forbidden from purchasing one of the user-created magical meals from the spire’s marketplace,” Smores said.
“This again? Damn fuck, you know those things are scams, right? Soup that’ll let you see in the dark? Pancakes that’ll make your skin as tough as tree bark? Bunch of crapsack,” Mouthy said.
“Interesting,” Smores mused. “You use Skills freely, see spells, have them cast on you, felt their effects, yet you draw the line at foods with magical effects? Magical cooking is, was a staple of fantasy rpg’s. Santi creates magical potions through his Alchemist Class. Is it such a leap to consider that others out there have been able to do the same with cooking? The spires turned our world into an amalgamation of so many different things we once consigned to the world of make-believe.”
“Sorry… what?” Mouthy yawned. “I stopped listening after ‘interesting’.”
Rino grabbed one of the ibingans and sniffed it. “Doesn’t smell disgusting like other monsters. Mind you it isn’t appetizing either,” she dropped the slimy body back to the ground.
Part of Cal was relieved to notice that all three of the baby ibingans were now well and truly dead.
“Cook away, maybe it won’t taste like shit, but I wouldn’t count on it. Monsters never taste good,” Rino said.
The others regarded her with mingled looks of horror, disgust, confusion and curiosity.
“I’m a Weredog. I bite monsters, which means they get in my mouth,” Rino glared.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat monster flesh,” Sgt. Butcher said.
“There could be bad side-effects,” Cal agreed. He had seen what the spires’ system could do with people eating things they shouldn’t.
“Perhaps, someone with a stronger constitution could try the first bite,” Smores eyed him.
“No,” Cal said flatly.
Smores nodded nonplussed. “Your unique biological system wouldn’t be an accurate predictor of effects on the rest of us in any case.” He turned to Sgt. Butcher. “Sarge, this could give us an edge.”
“Okay, but tiny bites at first and only one volunteer,” Sgt. Butcher said after a long moment.
“So, what? We just cut it up and fry it?” Hardhat said with a look on her face that revealed what she thought of the prospect.
“More or less, although perhaps it’d be better if we have someone with a cook-type Class do it,” Smores said.
“We’ll see back at base camp,” Sgt. Butcher said.
“Why wait? You got me interested, nerd,” Rino grinned at Smores. She partially-transformed her fingers into something closer to her full Weredog form. They lengthened and nails became sharp, thick claws. With which she cut a small piece out of one of the dead baby ibingans. She popped it into her mouth and chewed for what felt like much too long before swallowing. “Didn’t taste good, but it didn’t make me want to hurl like monster meat normally does. Can’t say I feel more magical or anything.”
“Oh… I’m going to be sick,” Hardhat gagged.
Rai made a face.
Even Ambrose was taken aback.
Smores watched with great interest.
Cal was just thankful that his helmet was filtering out odors.
“Maybe the portion was too small? Or preparation plays a role? Then again, your Class could also factor into it. There are many variables we have to take into account. I don’t think we can even comprehend them all at this stage,” Smores said.
“Uh,” Ambrose raised his hand. “Can I cut off the heads now?”
“Go for it,” Cal said.
“May I observe your process?” Smores said.
Ambrose thought about it. “Sure, I guess, but not like the last 5%. I have to do that alone.”
“I have a concern,” Two-toes raised her hand. “These are babies… so where’s the mother?”
Cal studied the space around the nest that had been seemingly gouged out of the fog. He stretched his telepathy out for many miles and didn’t detect any powerful presences, such as a large water dragon-snake spirit. His eyes and thoughts went to the impenetrable wall of fog. “We don’t have to worry about mother. At least not right now.”
“Alright everyone let’s set up a perimeter,” Sgt. Butcher barked. “Ambrose, get on with it. Don’t take too long.”
“Yes, Sarge, I’ll go as fast as I can,” Ambrose said.
“Okay… but then what about the dad?” Two-toes’ voice quivered.
“If there is one it’s not anywhere near us,” Cal assured her. “Sgt. Butcher, if you don’t need me any longer then I’ll be heading back to base. I’d like to get started on moving the equipment to the next base location.”
“So, you found what we were hoping for?” Sgt. Butcher said.
“Yup. Top five floors of the Grand Hyatt Manila are above the fog.”
“I’ve never stayed at such a fancy sounding place. Best place my parents took me to stay was the Disneyland hotel,” Sgt. Butcher said.
“I remember that place was pretty expensive.”
“I was a kid back then. I didn’t understand things like costs. Now, I do and it’s too late to show them my appreciation,” Sgt. Butcher said.
“I imagine they knew enough from the smile on your face and the joy in your laughter.”
The Ranger Sergeant was being uncharacteristically open. Cal made an effort to keep her thoughts from rising beyond the barest whisper it was in his mind. He didn’t want to share unasked for intimacy with anyone.
“Once we kill the fog you can have another fancy hotel experience,” Cal said.
“Have to claim it first,” Sgt. Butcher said. “Though that’ll probably be easy compared to this Quest.”
“I’m sure it will. Be careful, Sgt. Butcher. Call if anything changes,” Cal soared up into the sky. As quickly away from the genuine emotions as he could without knocking the rangers over with a sonic boom.