Now, Manila

The expedition hadn’t gone well.

Domeric had taken a team of twenty men and women, hardened fighters one and all, into the fog. They had grown up in the post-spires world where strength meant survival and where strength could only be gained through battle.

Now they were only six.

His Commander wasn’t going to be pleased when they returned with nothing to show for the costly price.

Assuming they returned, which wasn’t looking likely.

Ghosts of fog had attacked them often as they moved southwest into Metro Manila.

Monsters, animals and people had assaulted them in a running battle.

The latter were the most disturbing things Domeric had ever faced.

Some of the people had attacked with spells and Skills, but most simple threw themselves at his team with their bare hands, all the while begging for freedom.

The attacks slowed then stopped as they moved deeper into Quezon City, judging by the street signs.

Sounds of battle reached Domeric’s ears.

“Stop.”

The remnants of his team halted immediately.

“You hear that?”

“Sounds like a fight,” Irvin said from his place at the front of the formation.

“See anything?”

“I see— fog…”

“There’s magic up ahead, at least that’s what it feels like, but I don’t know… this place is fucked up,” Samson said. “Still, I’d be careful. This whole time we got nothing beyond the hundred foot radius. Not even any sounds and now we’re hearing fight noises,” he shrugged.

Domeric regarded his last remaining mage for a moment. “Weird that this coincides with a lull in the attacks out of the fog. A trap?”

“I don’t know. The fog kept our teams turning around for the last eight months and just lets us in. Only to kill fourteen of us before slowing, then stopping and now this?” Samson said.

“Yeah, encounter challenges and spawn zones don’t usually get easier the deeper you go inside,” Paz said lightly. Her tone was at odds with the grim cast to her bloodied face. The clear faceshield of her helmet had been so broken and bloodied that she had removed and thrown it away.

“Except, we never got the spire message about this being one of those.”

Ben Ben was smiling a lot more than he usually did.

Domeric knew that this was a sign that the bulky young man was close to tipping over into one of his rages. Useful in a fight, but dangerous when the only potential targets were his own teammates.

It was ultimately a small matter. Domeric knew that he could club Ben Ben into unconsciousness without much trouble. He just didn’t want to waste the other man’s rage like that.

“We got that Quest,” Dolorita said. Her face was an expressionless mask. The blood had dried in dripping tracks across her face. “A lot of points if we find what’s causing this and kill it.”

“I don’t think that’s possible now. I don’t think we could’ve done it when we were at full strength,” Samson said.

“I still think we should try to leave,” Irvin said.

“Cause that worked out great the last time we tried to turn around,” Ben Ben scoffed.

Domeric glanced down at the other man.

If Ben Ben wasn’t happy with the decision than the man could challenge him for leadership later.

Samson shook his head. “Going by the stiffening of resistance when we tried to backtrack… I suspect that our only option is to continue.”

“Should be worth a lot of levels,” Paz said, “if we survive.”

Samson looked up at Domeric with a question in his eyes.

“We need to find a spire, see if what Paz says is true,” Domeric grunted.

“We’re going around the fighting up ahead?” Paz sounded disappointed.

Domeric couldn’t tell if the woman was being genuine.

He didn’t care.

“We haven’t seen anyone else in this place. This is a good opportunity to get some answers.” Domeric made the decision quickly. The rest of the team didn’t look happy, even Paz.

No one argued.

They were trapped in the fog.

Where else could they go?

Safety in numbers.

Even if that hadn’t helped out the dead members of their team.

They moved quickly toward the sounds of battle.

They were surprised to see a small group of teenagers fighting against small sigbins in the parking lot of a Jollibee.

“Haven’t had a chicken joy in years,” Ben Ben said.

“What’s the play?” Irvin said.

Domeric didn’t like the hungry look in the man’s beady eyes. He knew exactly where Irvin was looking. One of the teens was a young woman.

“We wait for them to finish. Then we have a conversation.”

The fight took longer than it would’ve if Domeric’s team had been fighting the sigbins. Even as bloodied and battered as they were the small monsters weren’t a threat.

The youngster didn’t have the time to celebrate their hard-fought victory as Domeric’s team fell on them immediately after the last sigbin was killed.

In seconds the teens were down and bound.

Domeric regarded them for a few seconds.

Fear and anger warred in their eyes.

“I’ll ask a question. You’ll provide the answer.”

He waited for a response.

Nothing.

“Let me loosen their tongues?” Irvin actually licked his lips.

Domeric clamped down on the urge to brain the sick bastard with his over-sized club.

Irvin was connected to important people back home. His predilections were over-looked as long as the poor victims weren’t also similarly connected.

A young woman not part of their home community were definitely in that class.

Domeric had to find ways to keep Irvin from indulging those impulses ever since the young man had been placed on his team.

There were lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

“Dolorita, kill the girl, make it quick,” Domeric said.

The girl cried and pleaded as Dolorita’s balisong whistled a song in the eerie, fog-shrouded sphere they were in.

The others, boys really, shouted curses and promises of retribution.

Inwardly, Domeric decried the wastefulness of it.

The eleven of them in the parking lot might’ve been the only people in the whole city and he had just ordered the death of one.

Better that than suffer through what Irvin clearly wanted to do to the teenage girl.

And perhaps it would encourage the boys to talk.

He didn’t want to hurt them more than he already had.

Such was the life of the post-spires world.

The bound people before him were young, but they fought and in his eyes that made them part of the game.

Kill or be killed.

Strength through struggle.

Survival through strength.

Dolorita cut the girl’s throat.

Domeric waited for her to bleed out.

“Her fate was easier than yours will be if you decide not to give me what I want,” he said.

Murderous glares and curses were thrown back in his face.

Irvin cackled.

Domeric studied the boys. He quickly found a target. There was only one that looked him in the eyes. He approached the kneeling boy and loomed with his entire 7 foot tall height. He let the business end of his heavy club thud into the asphalt right in front of the boy’s knees. “One hit from this will crush your head like a coconut, but that would be a mercy. If you keep your mouths shut… there will be none. I’ll start with an easy question any child should know,” he lifted the club and lightly rested it on his shoulder, “what’s your address?”

“Just kill me now,” the boy glared up at Domeric.

Domeric pointed at one of the other boys. “Start cutting… just stay away from the legs and face.”

Dolorita’s face remained as it always did, an expressionless mask, as she went to work.

The boys lasted a surprisingly long time.

Domeric had seen grown men, hardened killers, give up their mothers much quicker.

In the end, however, they gave up.

Everyone had a breaking point.

Their answers led them to a large house, behind a red, rust-pitted, rolling gate and brick walls Domeric’s height.

“What are those things?” he couldn’t take his eyes off the ancient script on the gate and the walls.

The symbols glowed with magic.

“I don’t know. They look like ancient letters, symbols, but they’re definitely giving off magic,” Samson said. “Notice how the fog seems to be keeping away from this house.”

“I’d call it ten feet, but I’m not that great at measuring by eye,” Ben Ben said.

“That’s great, but how do we get inside uninvited?” Paz said.

Domeric leaned his large, rectangular shield on the gate and tried the door.

It didn’t budge.

A spire message appeared in his vision and hearing.

“The person who owns this is stronger than me,” Domeric said. “Someone named ‘Eron’.”

“That doesn’t happen often for you does it?” Irvin sneered.

Domeric ignored the young man.

“You guys are fucked!” the brave boy laughed.

Domeric glanced at their captives.

Four boys drenched in blood from all the cuts in their bodies. Some were missing finger nails or fingers.

It had been ugly, but necessary.

The mission needed to be accomplished.

Domeric hadn’t failed yet and he had no intention of doing so.

Some lines shouldn’t be crossed.

And he hadn’t yet done so.

For a moment he contemplated the possibility that it’d be necessary.

“What now?” Samson whispered. “We need to get in there. If these magic symbols are keeping the fog out… a place to rest and take care of our wounds—”

Domeric held up a big fist.

“You will invite us in,” he said to the brave boy.

“No chance!” the boy spat. “You’ve already tortured us. What more can you do?”

Domeric regarded the other three boys.

“You’ll invite us inside.”

“Too bad we can’t do that. We don’t have those permissions,” the boy laughed again. High, almost hysterical.

“He’s lying… Dolorita take an eye,” Irvin hissed.

“No,” Domeric said flatly.

For her part, the young woman hadn’t moved from were she and Ben Ben were flanking the bound boys.

“You don’t give orders, Irvin,” Dolorita said without expression.

“Fuck you, bitch!” Irvin shot her a rude gesture.

Domeric banged on the metal door.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“They won’t let you in!” the boy spat.

“They will if they don’t want to watch and listen to you and your friends being truly brutalized,” Domeric said.

A warrior killed or was killed.

To be a warrior meant accepting the possibility of an ugly end.

Age didn’t mitigate that truth of their new world.

The strong took from the weak.

That was all.

Domeric was vindicated as someone inside the house opened the way for him and his team not ten seconds after he had let Irvin start on one of the boys.

A mad dog had uses, no matter how distasteful.

A dozen men, women and children were in the house.

No true warriors.

It seemed that the teenagers were the fighters.

Domeric was stunned by the weakness.

How had they survived?

No one gathered in the large living room seemed strong enough to create the spell that was keeping the fog out. The way they huddled together in terror while seated on the cold floor screamed of their incapability.

“How have you managed to survive like this?” Domeric muttered to himself.

“We should get them talking,” Irvin began, “I’ll take that one,” he pointed at a pretty young woman.

No surprise.

“I want you on the roof. You have the best eyes and the Danger Sense Skill. We need advance warning in case the real owner of this house returns.”

Irvin looked like he was about to exploded, but shrugged. “Okay, but my danger sense has been going off like crazy this whole time and there’s that impenetrable fog.”

Domeric glared.

“Just saying that you shouldn’t expect much warning,” Irvin threw up his hands before heading up the spiraling staircase. “This was a rich person’s house. Reminds me of my old one, except smaller.”

“If his daddy wasn’t senator big shot…” Paz mumbled.

“A word?” Samson tapped Domeric’s shoulder.

They moved to the second living room around the corner.

“We need answers. Who made those symbols for one?” Samson pointed at the glowing symbols on the walls. They were on the outside and inside. “If we can duplicate that…”

“Then we can start claiming territory in the city. Do you think it could be those super strong people and the ones that could make those forcefields?”

“I think if they were around in strength they would be in here right now. They always vigorously defended their territories,” Samson said.

“Yeah… they wouldn’t leave a sanctuary like this undefended.”

“They wouldn’t let a bunch of teenagers fight monsters by themselves either. My guess is that they lost out to this fog,” Samson said.

“That’s worrying.” Domeric came to a realization.

“Agreed. The fog people we were fighting were begging for release. That suggests that the fog captures someone’s ghost, for lack of a better word.”

“They still had their spells and Skills.”

“Which means we’ll eventually run into fog ghosts with superstrength or forcefields. We can’t do this Quest. We need to escape or send word out somehow,” Samson sighed.

“You had another thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Just that we should be careful with how we treat our unwilling ‘hosts’.”

“I don’t hurt woman and children, unless they’re fighters.”

“A stance I’m in favor off. Just wanted to remind you. We don’t know how the magic symbols work. We shouldn’t do anything that might throw off the balance in this place. Blood and terror have proven, tangible effects on magic. Also, I wouldn’t want to get on this ‘Eron’s’ bad side. If we couldn’t get in then he has to be significantly stronger than our entire team.”

Domeric nodded. “I’ll take the first part into consideration. As for the second part… it’s too late for that. We’ve already killed one of his warriors and tortured others. Be prepared for a fight to the death.”

“I’ll set up a watch schedule, so we can rest and take care of our injuries. I’ve already checked out the bedrooms upstairs. Two are huge. We can fit all the hostages inside one. There are three fridges and they’re all stocked. Two are half-empty though, so that suggests someone resupplies, seeing as how the ones here don’t look capable of going out and fighting through the fog. And I’ll make sure Irvin doesn’t have access for his…” Samson shrugged.

“Irvin stays on the roof. We’ll bring him food and a bucket. I can’t have him causing problems,” Domeric said. “Pick an adult and put them in that side bedroom near the dining room. I’ll start the interrogations.”

“Any preference?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

----------------------------------------

Two days.

Multiple violence-free interrogations.

Answers.

Domeric had them.

Hope and concerns.

There were still a few more people he hadn’t interrogated and he had always been a thorough man.

He had to duck his head to avoid hitting it on the door frame.

An older woman was seated on a plain chair next to a small bed meant for one person.

Domeric loomed over the woman.

“The others have told you that I play this straight. You answer my questions and nothing happens to you.”

“Yes,” the older woman nodded, calm and composed.

“Who is responsible for the symbols protecting this place from the fog?”

“A girl, twelve, maybe thirteen years old. Skinny, bony like she isn’t getting enough to eat. Dark bags under her eyes.”

Domeric consulted his notes of previous interrogations with the other people. “How often does she come back to recharge them?”

The older woman shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t like being around when they come,” she made the sign of the cross, “dark magic.”

Domeric frowned. “But it keeps you safe.”

“Yes, but what is the price? The devil presents a pleasant face to lead the faithful astray.”

“Who else comes with the girl?”

“No one, just Eron. What he does is unnatural.”

“Explain.”

“No man can be that strong.”

Domeric snorted. “You do know that things have changed in the last ten years? The spires—”

“The devil’s fingers.” The older woman crossed herself again. “This is our punishment. We have sinned.” She clasped her hands together and began to pray.

“Okay, relax. Control yourself before I get angry,” Domeric cracked his neck to the side, “how often does Eron stop by to bring you supplies?”

The older woman took a few moments to calm herself. “I don’t know… once a month. He comes by more often to bring that girl.”

“Just the girl? No one else does the magic?”

“No.”

“Describe Eron.”

A loud crash from outside the room swallowed the older woman’s response.

Domeric grabbed his club and shield and was out of the room in a few heartbeats.

A man held Ben Ben up by the scruff of his thick neck.

Ben Ben was thick, stocky, yet he was kicking his legs in the air.

Domeric took the unknown man’s measure in an instant.

About six feet tall. Muscular, but on the leaner side.

It didn’t look like he was having a hard time holding Ben Ben up.

“You must be Eron,” Domeric said.

“If you’ve hurt them, then you’re dead. One chance. Drop your weapons and surrender.”

Domeric kept his eyes on Eron. He didn’t want to tip the man off as Irvin crept in through the broken front door and slowly moved in from behind.

“Penetrating Stab!” Irvin cried out with savage glee as he plunged his triangular-bladed stabbing dagger into Eron’s back.

A curse.

Ben Ben flew through the air right at Domeric.

He barely managed to get his shield up in time while activating a Skill to keep from getting bowled over.

Ben Ben was less lucky.

For him it was like hitting a wall.

A loud crack.

Domeric didn’t see what had happened.

Eron had moved so fast.

Irvin went into the far wall at the front of the house. He fell down in a crumpled heap and didn’t move.

Domeric didn’t care too much.

Eron pulled the dagger from his back. “Skills,” he spat.

Domeric saw that only the first inch of the blade was covered in blood. He had seen Irvin plunge his dagger to the hilt into the thick hide of a mutated carabao.

“Well… you had your chance,” Eron said flatly.

A blur of movement.

Domeric just raised his shield.

The blow jarred his entire body.

His shield held.

“Huh? That should’ve shattered your shield.”

Domeric swung his club around.

Eron almost contemptuously raised an arm to block it.

The impact echoed like a gunshot.

Eron winced.

A look of shock was etched into his face.

Domeric didn’t hesitate.

He struck again.

This time Eron weaved under it.

Before he could land a punch on Domeric’s unprotected side a series of loud pops filled the air.

Eron shielded his face.

Domeric backed away, out of punching range.

Paz had come in from her position at the back of the house. She blazed away with her pistol.

The bullets bounced right off Eron’s skin.

He dashed forward and doubled Paz over with an uppercut to the stomach.

Domeric rushed at Eron’s back and clubbed him into the dining room table.

The table was old, made from thick wood.

It splintered into kindling.

Eron picked himself out of the debris and kicked a large chunk that Domeric managed to leap over.

Domeric’s club descended once more.

Eron rolled out of the way. He rose to his feet then spun around quicker than Domeric’s eyes could follow, clutching Dolorita around her neck. “Always with the backstabs with you rogue-types. Must be karma since I mained a rogue back in WOW.”

Dolorita slashed and stabbed her balisong into Eron’s muscled arms to no effect.

“I guess since you’re not sneak attacking there aren’t any bonuses.”

Dolorita dropped the blade and drew her pistol faster than the normal human eye could follow. She squeezed the trigger just as quickly.

Bullets bounced off of Eron’s face.

He grabbed the gun out of Dolorita’s hands and crushed it.

Domeric aimed a blow at the back of Eron’s head. He pulled it to one side when Eron turned with impossible quickness and held up the struggling Dolorita like a shield.

“That club and shield… magical? I can count on one hand how many magical items I’ve run into in the last couple of years. Where’d you get them? You move like a warrior-type, so you can’t have enchanted them yourself.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Domeric growled. He didn’t like being the second strongest man in a room. From the looks of it Eron had him beat by an astronomical margin.

“Do you want her death on your hands too?”

Domeric glanced over at Ben Ben.

“Broken neck,” Eron said flatly.

Domeric’s eyes darted to Irvin.

“Broken… everything.”

“What do you want?”

“Were you not listening?” Eron’s gaze darkened. “The people residing in this house, my grandparents’ house no less… what did you do to them?”

“They’re safe in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

“I know that much. My question, again, what did you do to them? One week… I was last here a week ago. Which means at a maximum you’ve had seven days with them. I know what your type does to people under your power. Tell me what you did. No lies. I can tell.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Oh, but you do. There’s no way you’re getting out of this on your terms. You’re in my hands now. I decide what will happen to you based on what you’ve done to the people. Hurry up. I don’t think this one is going to last much longer.”

Dolorita’s kicks were, indeed, getting weaker.

“We didn’t touch them. Just questioned them,” Domeric ground out.

“About?”

“You, this place, the symbols on the walls, how they keep the fog out.”

“Truth… mostly,” Eron nodded begrudgingly. “Where’d you come from? I’ve been all over the city and I think I would’ve run into your group at some point.”

“From outside the fog.”

“Huh… so it’s not turning people away anymore. And here I thought I was special.”

“I answered, now let her go,” Domeric said.

“It’s funny that you think you’re still in control,” Eron said.

“That’s because we have the leverage.” Samson descended to the landing halfway down the staircase with a small child in his arms. A small knife blade at the little girl’s throat. “If you don’t want her to get hurt you’ll release Dolorita and get on the ground with your hands behind your head and your ankles crossed.”

Domeric felt crushing despair.

They were all going to die.

“There is no man-made restraint on this world that can hold me,” Eron growled. “You’ve just screwed things up for yourselves.”

----------------------------------------

Now, Hawaii

“I don’t understand why you can’t take possession of the airport.”

There was an accusation in Demi’s tone that Cal didn’t appreciate.

“I told you the—”

“Right, the entity that spoke only to you and threatened to eat you.”

“Yes,” Cal said flatly.

“So?”

“I’m pretty sure it won’t take kindly to my claiming space within its territory.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Sgt. Butcher said.

“I got the impression of volcanoes… so possibly one of the those or maybe all of Hawaii.”

“This entity didn’t seem to care about the people here,” Phillip said.

“They weren’t strong enough. You know, like ants to it,” Cal shrugged. “Look, that’s why I think one of you guys should claim this place.”

“Bit of a high opinion of yourself there, Cruces,” Hanna snorted.

“The problem is none of us are strong enough to keep the remaining weresharks and other threats from just retaking the airport,” Demi said with a glance at Phillip.

“No way! I’m not getting my dad in the crosshairs of some dragon lady,” Cal said.

“You didn’t say it was a dragon!” Hanna’s were as wide as saucers.

“I didn’t? Well… that is to say I’m not sure what it was. Just that I got the impression of eggs and wings, teeth, claws, huge,” Cal shook his head.

“It’s alright, Anak,” Phillip laid a hand on Cal’s armored shoulder. “This is a good compromise. It’ll hopefully provide some protection for the people in this airport from the weresharks still out in the ocean without pissing off this dragon.”

Cal frowned. “You know what dragons are, right? Huge, flying monsters with fire breathing and magic.”

“Just from those cartoons,” Phillip shrugged.

“What if we claim it as group?” Sgt. Butcher said.

“Nope, no offense, but we’d probably average down to a level that the weresharks wouldn’t have too much of a problem with.” Cal had flown around over the bay while the plane had been refueled and the pirate slavers’ captives were freed and given what little medical aid that could be provided. He had detected many more weresharks and others waiting beneath the clear waters. “I estimate that it’d only take them a few weeks to break through our combined ownership.”

“I’m doing it,” Phillip said. “I can’t just let these poor people loose without helping them.”

Cal finally agreed.

What was the point of freeing them from their captivity only to turn them loose to face the dangers out there?

The entity that had spoken into his head was a threat that he just wasn’t ready to deal with at the moment.

Eron was his priority and they had already stayed longer than they had intended as they saw to the formerly enslaved people.

“This airport is their best bet,” Phillip continued. “They have shelter. Food and drink from the restaurants. A convenience store.”

“Liquor,” Hanna added.

“We can check in on them on the trip back,” Sgt. Butcher said.

“Are we agreed then?” Demi looked at everyone. “Philip will take ownership of the airport.”

Cal nodded after a moment.

“I never expected that one day I’d own an airport,” Phillip said.

“Hopefully, it doesn’t piss off that dragon,” Hanna smiled mirthlessly.

Cal scowled at her.

They were on the plane and continuing on their journey within the hour.

In Cal’s case he was again on top of the plane, held in place by his telekinesis.

The flight over the endless blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean was boring, which was good for Cal.

A beep in his helmet broke into his partial meditation and pulled him fully from his mindscape into the real world.

He brought the map up in his faceplate.

“Time flies when you aren’t all there,” Cal muttered.

Land was a few miles away.

The plane was moving in a southeast direction and was about to cross into the northern portion of Luzon. One of the main islands of the Philippines, where Metro Manila was located, where Eron was.

Cal detected an immense, powerful presence a heartbeat before he felt, rather than heard the screech that threatened to overwhelm the auditory protections of his helmet.

The plane wasn’t as well-defended.

The windows shattered and the engines gave out, sending it into a spiraling dive.

Cal lashed out with telekinetic force at the large shadow descending at supersonic speed.

Mighty wind buffeted him, separating him from the plane.

Everything had happened so fast.