The environment shifted from the musty cave to an empty, equally musty room. It was dark and oddly humid, smelling of mold and old linens. Lionel was breathing heavy, holding his face and neck. He could feel his skin being wet and warm and knew it was a mixture of sweat and blood, though hoped it was more of the former.
He pulled his hand away for a second and felt a streak of liquid run down his neck into his shirt. A curse escaped his lips, and he recovered his upper neck with his hand, putting pressure on the wound.
That damned Ranger nearly killed him. If he hadn’t gone through the portal and moved his body at the right time, the arrow would’ve struck his chest instead of graze his jaw, and he’d bleed out before help could arrive.
He might still bleed out, but at least there was a chance he’d live.
A few slow, methodical breaths left the Fighter’s still-quivering mouth. He blinked hard several times, panic rising inside him as the darkness wasn’t changing whether his eyes were open or closed.
Did she blind him, too? No, that can’t be right. The room must be nearly pitch black, no source of light to be found.
Lionel jerked his head frantically side to side, looking for anything. He saw the faintest sliver of light under a door and stared at it for a few moments. The light centered him, and he started to see his surroundings better as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Two old barrels sat against the wall and a broom was leaning against it.
A chuckle escaped his smiling mouth. He was in a storage closet. Of all the places they could arrange for the other half of the portal to be, they picked a damned storage closet.
His mind rushed with the events of the afternoon. He knew he had to bide his time to fulfill his true purpose, and he succeeded. He didn’t want to kill John, but it was necessary. It was the added bonus to his mission and he knew he would be rewarded far more than what was promised.
Gaps of light formed and moved under the door. Lionel held his breath, afraid he’d be caught. The door suddenly opened, and an older, bald man stood hunched in the light. Lionel tried to move his other hand to cover his eyes from the sudden brightness, but stopped when he remembered he was holding John’s sheathed sword. He alternated between squinting and trying to open his eyes from the influx of light.
“Incompetent,” the man growled. He reached down and hoisted Lionel up with surprising ease.
Cold hands ran over Lionel’s neck and face, and he didn’t dare move his hand so he wouldn’t bleed out. The man briefly fought with him, trying to make him move his hand.
“Move your damn hand, boy,” the man spat. “I need to heal you if you’re injured so you don’t bleed all over the place. Can’t be making a scene, now.”
Lionel didn’t recognize his accent, and he certainly didn’t trust the man, but he wasn’t in a condition to argue. He still could barely see.
Relenting, Lionel dropped his hand. In a flash, the man swiped some salve over his jaw. The cream was cool and thick, giving instant relief. He could feel his skin tightening underneath, and the cooling sensation turned warm as life seemed to return to him.
“Put this on,” the man barked, twirling a cloak around Lionel’s shoulders. He could only see it shimmering blue before his appearance began to shift, his hands tanning and clothes changing to robes.
“What are you doing?” Lionel asked. “Who are you?”
“Always with the questions,” the man said, more to no one than at Lionel. “Shut up and follow me. He’s waiting.”
Lionel’s heart skipped a beat. So this man was part of it, then.
Without another breath, the man pushed Lionel out of the room ahead of him. Lionel squinted and blinked hard and fast, trying to get his eyes to adjust quickly while being pushed to walk. He started to make out where he was after a few turns and hallways.
They were passing the hall of portals, at the base of Alestead.
For some reason Lionel thought that the special portal key he was given would take him to some secret place, not the actual tower. But maybe he wasn’t quite worth that.
Not yet, at least.
The two men passed rookie Climbers still exiting the first floor, unaware of what he had done. He looked back to see the man guiding him along.
A smirk formed on Lionel’s face. The stranger was wearing a vest with silver trimmings, and Alistair’s symbol on the chest. Whether he was an actual guild member as a double agent or simply stole the outfit, Lionel didn’t care. He was impressed. He was obviously important enough for all this effort, and that made his chest swell.
No one glanced twice at them as they walked. Lionel looked down and was shocked to see the sword he held looked like a staff, and his clothes like robes. For all intents and purposes, the cloak gave the illusion he was a Mage of some kind.
A grimace formed on his face. It was an insult to disguise him as some kind of Magician.
“Where are we going?” Lionel asked.
“Shut up,” the man said, pushing him along. “No questions.”
Lionel felt a sharp finger poke him in the back and push him forward. He gritted his teeth and kept walking, unsure where they were going.
They past the front entrance at Alistair and turned off into an errant alley from the primary road. The way was dark and hard to see, but the strange man guided Lionel by the shoulder once they exited the main street of Alestead.
“Wait here,” the man said. He stepped to the side out of view.
Lionel looked around. They stood at a dead end, the only thing around being a lone, small tree without leaves right beside him and a small patch of grass that rested under his feet. The area was surrounded by stone and brick of the walls from the neighboring buildings, trapping it from continuing. The area was unassuming and innocent, as though it was a perfectly secure place for a picnic.
Suddenly the ground under his feet shifted, and he backed away in alarm. A square patch of grass next to the tree flipped up and over, and the man was standing in the ground, only his head and shoulders visible.
“Come on,” the man grumbled. “Not too much further.” He climbed out of the hole and nodded his head towards his for Lionel to lead.
Lionel peered into the hole and saw a tall wooden ladder descending into darkness. It looked rotted and barely usable, but the man insisted, nudging Lionel’s back. He relented and climbed down it, unsure how far down the ladder would take him.
Suddenly he felt the ladder shake and dust fell on his face. He blew air out of the side of his mouth, trying to breathe without sucking in extra dirt. The man joined him at the top and flipped the grass cover back over them. The instant the cover was replaced, a dim light shown not far under his feet, and Lionel peeked under his boots to see the ground wasn’t too far.
Landing with a thud, Lionel realized he stood in a narrow, carved pathway. It was all dirt and mud around him, completely underground though obviously manmade. Candles lined the walls every so often, barely lighting the path enough for him to see. Various patches of darkness made him cautious, but he didn’t have anything to fear.
Not yet, at least.
After several minutes the pair arrived at a plain wooden door with a small square hole that was sealed from the other side. Bars covered the front of the hole in the door. The man pushed Lionel aside and rapped the door four times in a varied cadence with his knuckles.
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The slot behind the hole flew open. A single eye peered through it and looked at both men.
“Aliyar’s mercy,” the man behind the door said.
“Is swift and unforgiving,” the older bald man leading Lionel finished.
The hole was covered again, then a latch sounded behind the door. The wooden door creaked as it opened towards the inside and the man again pushed Lionel forward.
Lionel’s mouth hung open when he stood inside the door, still clutching John’s sword. Dim light completely filled a large open room with candles scattered around, either in tall iron holders, on tables, or just on the ground. There must have been over a hundred of them. The room was circular with various halls or doors leading out deeper into what seemed like the hub of catacombs.
Over two dozen people were gathered in the center of the room, all wearing dark blue hooded robes that covered their features. They faced away from Lionel towards a man sitting on a stone throne that held a multitude of candles, all dripping wax at different heights. The throne was elevated with several wide steps leading up to the gaudy and macabre display.
The man at the throne wasn’t wearing a hooded robe, but instead a stark white cloth covering that looked like a bleached clergyman’s outfit. He stood and waved Lionel over with a smirk.
Lionel hesitated. Was this him? The man who orchestrated this entire ordeal? It had to be. He was obviously their leader, here in the flesh. Lionel knew him only as a myth, and yet here he stood.
The older man pushed him forward yet again. “When you’re summoned, you don’t delay. Now go.”
Lionel stepped forward and the crowd silently parted to allow him passage. As he approached, the mysterious man’s smirk grew to a wide smile.
“Lionel, my dear boy,” the man said, his voice flowing like smooth honey. “Welcome to our humble abode. You have earned your place. I hope.”
Lionel smiled and held John’s sword in front of him. “I have. I did exactly as you asked.”
“Commanded,” the man corrected, his voice stern and face expressionless. In another moment his features returned to before, smiling and inviting, as though a magical force shifted his demeanor in the blink of an eye.
Lionel scrunched his eyebrows. Something didn’t feel right but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was supposed to be welcomed, but this felt like a trial of sorts. He’d already undergone the trial and succeeded. This should be a formality more than anything.
“Alright,” Lionel said. He looked around the room with quick glances and realized no one was looking at him, or even at the man in the throne. They were simply looking forward in the same direction, as though in a trance or under some spell.
"Please, tell me what happened," the man said, waving his hand towards Lionel. "I need to hear it from you. From your soul."
Lionel cleared his throat and recounted the events in the tower, sparing no detail. He didn't quite trust this entire ordeal but he wasn't about to lie to this man in this place. He may have been many things, but a fool was not one of them.
The man sunk down into his throne and closed his eyes as though Lionel was telling him news of dire importance, the kind that includes families being reunited with loved ones, or hearing someone lived when thought dead. He clasped his hands together in joy and let out a relieved sigh.
"Well, young man, you certainly went above and beyond," the man said.
"Yes, sir," Lionel said. He bowed his head in respect.
The man stood up quickly, his white robes flowing behind him like sheets in the wind. No one dared move in the chamber, and Lionel counted himself part of that group. The man stepped off from his throne and began to slowly walk down the steps.
"When our order discovered you, Lionel, we were hopeful we found our next lieutenant. Tall, strong, capable - everything we needed as a foundation to mold you." The man stepped down the steps slowly, accentuating his words. "You were receptive to us, as well! Your task, in order to join our order, was to betray an ally. To sever a bond you had made within the tower. Doing that would show you would stop at nothing for us, and ruthlessness is crucial for the role you'll need to play."
Lionel straightened his posture, though did not dare take his eyes off the man.
"You have succeeded that task, and then went a step beyond."
The man snapped a finger, and three people in the crowd brought over a large stone basin of liquid. It was dark like the black of night, impossible to see through like standard water. It strangely appeared to swirl as the people placed the basin before Lionel, and he saw what looked like flashes of stars form and disappear over and over in the moving liquid. It was incredibly alluring, and Lionel fought to take his eyes off the mysterious substance in order to look back at the leader.
The man rested a hand on the basin and one hand on Lionel's shoulder, a sinister smile forming on his face. The rings on his hand reflected brilliant light in various metals and gems. "You not only betrayed your ally, but literally stabbed him in the back as well. And stole his sword! Incredible!" The leader lightly ran his fingers over John's sword before patting Lionel on the back.
"Not quite, my Lordship," a familiar voice said.
Lionel snapped his head around to see the stranger who led him here sitting down eating an apple, his legs propped up on the wooden table in front of him.
"Excuse me?" The leader said. "What are you saying, Mathias?"
The older bald man - Mathias - finished his bite of apple before throwing the core in a small basin at his side. "Pardon me, my Lord, but Lionel did not kill that Climber."
"What?" Lionel said in a low tone, growling through his teeth. "I stabbed him in the back. That Mage was out of mana, she couldn’t heal him enough. No way he survived that."
Mathias smiled softly. "He absolutely did. Apparently the Divine Magician in your party was quite the healer. Or had more mana than you thought. She stabilized him and brought him back to the infirmary, where he's resting now. The healers are saying he'll recover completely."
Lionel's face softened and his eyes went wide. His plan to kill John failed. What did that mean for him here?
The leader clicked his tongue several times in a disapproving manner. "Oh, what a shame. So you didn't quite kill him. You tried and failed." He flicked John's sword, making Lionel jump. "You stole his weapon, though, and that's something. I guess." He turned hurriedly and walked behind the basin, raising his arms out wide. "Still, you have earned your original reward. A promise of power lies ahead." He smiled wide, and the liquid stirred in the basin as though prompted.
Lionel stared back at the basin, a hunger rising within him. Power was what he sought, and power was what he'd earned. He was inches from obtaining it, just within his grasp. His free hand, as though acting on its own, reached for the liquid. The dark liquid then pooled around his hand and wrist and began to trickle up his arm. It followed a strange path, swirling and turning without reason while causing runes to form on his forearm and bicep. Lionel could feel the liquid run up his shoulder and neck before settling on his face, all the while still rotating and moving like a miniature flowing river.
The liquid began to expand as though consuming his arm and shoulder. It originally felt cool and refreshing, but slowly turned warm against his skin.
The leader's smile faded, and his face was expressionless once again. The crowd all turned towards them, bearing witness to the event.
Panic rose inside Lionel. The liquid was now hot, and he could visibly see steam rising from his arm. He began to grunt and willed himself to manage the growing pain. His willpower was breaking far faster than he thought. The pain was unbearable, and he fell to one knee as the liquid scalded and burned his skin. A scream left his mouth and he desperately wished for the experience to stop.
"Power does not come without sacrifice," the leader said, his hands resting on the basin as the excess liquid disappeared into his white robes.
Lionel kept screaming, his neck and face now sizzling from the liquid that still covered him.
"Power does not come without sacrifice," the crowd echoed in unison.
"You have earned your place with us!" The leader said, shouting above Lionel's screams of pain and agony. "You will come to know the might and power of The Great One, and all who she houses!”
The leader immediately grabbed Lionel by the shoulders, gripping them hard. The Fighter could feel the fingers digging hard into his flesh, harder than should be possible. It felt like a steel vice squeezing him, any harder and he’d pop. But from his touch the liquid began to cool. It was then drawn away from his face down his neck and arm into the white robes of the leader standing before him, completely bypassing the basin.
The room was completely silent except for Lionel’s ragged breaths. His left arm twitched from the scalding liquid and his eyes widened when he looked at it. Runes covered his entire left arm from his wrist to his shoulder, and he knew he must have some on his face, too. They felt like magical brands, seared into his skin by whatever kind of unholy liquid was introduced to him.
Lionel tried to settle his breathing down. Their Lord was standing up at his throne now, his arms out wide. Three figures stood at the bottom of the stairs, just a few feet in front of where Lionel knelt. Two were on his left and one on his right. They all wore the same dark blue robes as the crowd though their faces were concealed with white porcelain masks.
He studied them for a moment. It was impossible to tell whether they were male or female, and they didn’t seem to carry any obvious weapons or gear on their persons. Their masks had varying black marks - one had swirls of circles while another had only one triangle on each cheek, opposite each other like mirrors.
One of the mask-wearing acolytes walked towards him. Their mask had three thick black lines vertically running across the entire piece, one each over the eyes and the third over the nose. Lionel stood, unsure of what was about to happen.
“These are your fellow lieutenants,” the Lord said, his arms still out wide beside him and his white robe draped underneath him. “You are our fourth. Make me proud, Lionel. Make Aliyar proud.”
The masked acolyte reached into their robes and pulled out a blank, white porcelain mask similar to the ones the three wore. Lionel took it with a shaky hand.
“You will earn your marks,” the Lord said. “You are no longer a Fighter and no longer Lionel. Now, you will be known as exactly what you are. Who you are - the Betrayer.”
“The Betrayer!” The crowd echoed.
Lionel stepped to the fourth and open spot beside the other masked acolyte, still breathing heavy. His arm and face pained him, though the pain was not without reason - he had done it. The Order had accepted him, and he was finally on his destined path.
No one would stop him, and he’d make sure to finish the job he started.