Sticking to side roads and alleys seemed like a smart thing to do, and that’s what Oak and Geezer mostly did. Just walking around the empty streets was nerve-racking. There was a certain pressure in the air, almost like the feeling before a heavy thunderstorm. It weighed him down and made his thoughts turn to old slights and disappointments.

After a nasty memory from his childhood suddenly resurfaced, Oak shook himself and strengthened his wards as much as he was able. Bloody knives and squealing pigs had featured enough times in his nightmares as a child. There was no need to walk down memory lane. He was pretty sure the Waking Dream in this place was filled with such malice that it seeped into the real world.

Once in a while they had to cross a large main road and every time Oak waited and watched for any signs of movement, before risking the crossing. The citizens of Ma’aseh Merkavah had painted their houses and apartment buildings in visually striking colors, like bright greens and yellows, which gave the empty streets a disturbing, contradictory look. Every window seemed like a watchful eye looking straight at him, and after a while the doorways looked like hungry maws ready to swallow him whole.

Each time they walked under a balcony, Oak expected some nameless horror to fall on his neck. Unnatural wind caused the mist hanging in the air to swirl in haunting patterns, and he was sure he saw faces forming in the murky fog. Oak felt the constant need to glance behind himself. Sounds of whispers at the edge of his hearing, and the scurrying of clawed feet on hard stone, echoed in his mind. He was imagining things. Surely?

Whether or not the noises were real, Oak’s imagination was running wild. Every shadow hid a beast more terrifying than the last. The sensation of eyes watching him from the darkness was overwhelming, and cold shivers traveled down his spine. If the thought had not been so absurd, he would have been sure the city itself hated his presence. Despite his discomfort, no monster leaped from the darkness and yet the longer they traveled without interruption, the more anxious he became.

Oak and Geezer had been walking for a couple of hours when they once again arrived at a junction with a large road. It was the widest roadway yet. An army could have easily marched down it to war and there would have been room to spare.

He swallowed a curse.

Fog covered the entire thoroughfare, and he could not see clearly to the other side. Across the road and on his right, the bell-tower of an ancient church rose over the blanket of fog to tower over the nearby buildings like a silent guardian. A couple of flickering lanterns glowed through the fog, fighting a losing battle against the encroaching darkness.

“No use crying about it, just have to get to it,” Oak murmured, more to himself than Geezer, and after a brief moment of listening for any sounds and not hearing anything, they ran across the road. As he ran, a cold shiver crawled up his spine and settled between his shoulder blades.

When he reached the other side, Oak turned around, sword drawn. There was nothing there. Just fog. He stood there, panting and straining his hearing. Then he heard it. Thanks to the Ears of Amdusias, he could discern the sound of claws dragging on stone, up the road. Oak and Geezer looked at each other and collectively decided that discretion was the better part of valor. They sneaked away from the main road as silently as they could, glancing behind themselves all the while.

For a long time they moved without even a whispered word or the faintest bark, wincing at every noise caused by stepping on a loose stone or piece of rubbish, stopping every once in a while to listen if they were being followed, but only silence greeted them. After an hour had passed and nothing seemed to follow in their footsteps, Oak let out a sigh of relief and stopped to give Geezer some scratches.

If we make it out of this place intact, this city is going to haunt my nightmares for a long time.

***

Oak was beginning to hate wide roads. He and Geezer were in a small park, next to an entrance which led to one of the main roadways going across the entire city. The trees were dead, and piles of garbage were strewn around the park, giving the whole place a dreadful demeanor.

On their left, the park transitioned into some type of market square with faded but colorful stalls and food carts haphazardly lying around the place. Some were still standing, while others had failed the test of time and fallen down. Storefronts and what Oak suspected to be taverns and bars circled the entire square.

He was just about to leave the safety of the fence he and Geezer were hiding behind and rush across the road, when all color left his face and Oak found himself rooted on the spot, staring into the fog covering the road.

A pair of enormous horns emerged from the fog at the height of the roofs of nearby three-story buildings. The horns preceded the giant skull of a deer buck. The spawn of the Pit walked on two long legs, and a cloak made of crow feathers and rat tails covered his lanky frame. His hands ended in claws that looked like the blades of scythes.

Oak ducked back into cover and pressed himself against the fence, staring at the monster through a gap in the planks. Without noticing it, he had grabbed a hold of Geezer and held the dog tight. A Leshen. A bloody Swarm-Priest of Abaddon. Some years back, one had been sighted in King Jair’s lands. They needed multiple spellsingers and grafted to drive him away. By Ashmedai’s collection of broken crowns, what the fuck is it with this place? Oak thought in horrified awe.

By the grace of long dead God and every angel and demon Oak could name, the horror on two legs did not notice him or Geezer. It continued on its path along the road at a languid pace and vanished into the fog like it was never there.

Geezer whined. “Not now, boy. You have to keep quiet. If that thing hears us, we are dead,” Oak whispered.

Geezer whined again and struggled wildly. Oak turned towards the dog and froze once more. In his peripheral vision, a large pile of trash had just stood up. Or, more accurately, what he had thought to be a pile of trash was, in reality, a fat ogre. Two little beady eyes under the thing's heavy brows focused on him and Geezer, and the humanoid straightened his wide, twelve foot tall frame.

The ogre’s skin was the color of tanned leather and he was wearing trousers held up by suspenders stretching across his naked belly. It was rare for Oak to have to crane his neck upwards to look someone in the eye, and he did not enjoy the experience one bit.

The ogre smiled and licked his tusks. “What a pleasant surprise. Breakfast has delivered itself to my doorstep,” the ogre said and picked up a mean-looking club from the pile of trash he had been sleeping on. “Now, be a doll and stay still.” The ogre laughed and charged forward.

Oak threw Geezer towards the market square and started running. Geezer was on the ball and the dog landed in a dead sprint. He was not far behind. From the corner of his eye he saw the ogre winding up to hit him straight into next week and Oak dove forward, sliding on the dead grass.

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The earth shook behind him, and the ogre let out a disappointed grumble. Oak scrambled up again and continued to make some distance between himself and the ogre. His legs pumped like mad as he jumped over the fence between the market square and the park and dove behind a food cart.

The ogre followed with long and sure steps, walking right through the fence like it was not even there. “Stop this foolishness. My dear mother always said that running is bad for one’s digestion,” the ogre said and rubbed its fat belly. “My stomach agrees.”

Even though there was a hungry ogre on his tail, Oak had the presence of mind to look around for Geezer and he saw the dog had hidden under a half collapsed stall on his left. He had to decide whether they would fight or run and he had to decide now because he could not fight while he was carrying all of their water. Before he could decide, the ogre took the choice from him.

Oak heard the ogre sniff the air, and he let out a sigh of frustration. I forgot they have such an excellent sense of smell. There ain’t no way we lose him in these streets without running headfirst into something else. He took off his backpack and started running again, only stopping to stuff it under an intact food cart. The ogre followed, giddy with excitement.

A stall that had once upon a time sold sausages provided Oak with adequate cover from the ogres' prying eyes. He hid behind the stall and waited for his moment, sword and shield ready. The ogre stomped forwards; the earth shaking with every heavy step of tree-trunk like feet.

“Come out, come out, delicious appetizers. I will cook you well, I promise. Skin you and roast you on an open flame. I will eat you with pepper and onion,” the ogre said. The beastly cooking enthusiast was so close, Oak could hear the drool dripping from his mouth.

“Come to Gluk, I will gently treat your tender meat.” The ogre sniggered.

Oak jumped up and charged. He came from Gluk’s left side and struck the ogre’s hip with his sword as he ran past. The blade had trouble biting through the ogre’s thick skin, and Gluk was fat enough that Oak did not think he harmed anything vital. Only a trickle of blood stained his blade.

“Ouch! Bad food! Where are your manners?” Gluk roared, voice filled with indignation.

He circled around, keeping something between himself and Gluk at all times. The affronted ogre twisted his head this way and that, trying to locate his assailant among the labyrinth of carts, booths and tables.

Gluk’s gaze landed on the stall Geezer was hiding under, and he sniffed the air, brow furrowed in suspicion. Oak was forced to act quickly, lest Geezer come in harm's way, so he rushed to strike at the ogre. Gluk blocked his swing with one of his own and the impact of the heavy club almost ripped the sword from his hands. The ogre's backswing smashed into his shield, and Oak went flying through a stall. He rolled on the cobblestones, ribs protesting every single meeting with the ground.

Time to change strategies, Oak thought, and spat blood onto the cobblestones. He heard the approach of the ogre’s heavy footsteps, and the waves of sound painted a picture to his mind. Gluk was charging after him, right towards the remains of the stall he had just crashed through. A very wooden stall, in fact. He rolled over and exerted his soul to summon fire.

The flames Oak cast were much less intense than the ones he had formed with the help of Ashmedai’s leftover demonic essence, but the ten foot long pillar of orange flame he sent at the stall and the rampaging ogre still put a smile on his face. A heartbeat later, hundreds of pounds of angrily screaming Gluk sent what was left of the burning merchant's stall flying, and Oak had to scramble out of the way in a hurry.

Fortunately for Oak, the bellowing ogre did not get through the flames unharmed. Once he was clear of the debris of the burning cart, Gluk dropped to the cobblestones and rolled around to put out the flames clinging to his left side.

While Gluk rolled on the ground, Oak took a swing at him with his sword, and got hit with a vicious kick in response. The bottom of the ogre’s foot connected with his chest and cracked his ribs. He lost consciousness for a brief moment, but colliding with the front porch of a tavern woke him right up.

Oak shook his head to clear the stars from his vision and took stock. His sword and shield were somewhere in the square. His ribs were definitely broken and after moving his tongue around for a bit, he concluded he was missing one of his front teeth. If he survived, his chest would look like one giant bruise.

Best of all, Gluk had climbed back to his feet, and the fat ogre had a murderous look on his ugly face. Gluk’s wounds were dripping blood onto the stone and his left side was one massive burn. Flesh had blackened and bubbled, grotesque chunks hanging on by a thread.

A vein on Gluk’s forehead throbbed, and he ground his teeth. It sounded like someone was jumping on top of a bag of rocks. The ogre seemed angry beyond words. For some reason, Oak was much less concerned than he knew he should have been. Blood thundered in his ears like a raging river.

From the corner of his vision, Oak saw Geezer’s black form slink from the safety of one stall to another, as the dog made his way closer. The hellhound's red eyes peered at him from the shadows, and he could see the indecision in Geezer’s gaze. Oak shook his head ever so slightly. The dog had no chance against Gluk. This is not the time to find your courage, my cowardly friend. Live to see another dawn. Geezer got the message and vanished out of sight.

Oak hauled himself upright, and there was nothing graceful about it. His cracked ribs pulsed with pain. Every movement brought a new twinge of hurt with it. No matter. It is not like Creation will run out of pain. He looked into Gluk’s bloodshot eyes. Nothing for it. I just have to get it done.

“Come at me, you fat bastard,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and stumbled inside the tavern.

Gluk screamed and charged after him. Oak knew he had at most a couple of heartbeats before the ogre was on him, so immediately after going through the door, he jumped behind the nearest table and dove into the Waking Dream. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

The cold slapped him in the face and the absolutely delirious amount of pain surging through the Dream almost stunned him. Millions had died within this city and that had left its mark. When Oak opened his eyes in the Dream, a horrific visage confronted him. Eyes and open mouths filled with rotting black teeth lined the walls and the ceiling. Parts of the wall were stretching upwards and eating the ceiling, spilling blood and ripped apart eyeballs on the slimy, rotten floors. Chairs and tables were floating around in the air, bouncing into each other.

In a state of absolute focus, Oak located Gluk’s mind under the currents of the Dream, and just as the ogre ran through the wall in the real world, he threaded the needle and struck with Kaarina’s Horror through the Dream’s interference. Gluk had a set of wards, but he had no time to analyze them. He just hammered away with the stinger and hoped for the best.

Oak struck twice and formed a crack on Gluk’s wards, spilling thought-stuff and memories, before the ogre kicked the table he was hiding behind by accident as he ran past. The table slammed against Oak’s chin and he was violently ejected back to his own mind. Once again, Oak laid on the ground, blinking away stars. Through the waves of sound bouncing around the tavern, he could see Gluk running into some type of barrier and taking a tumble over it to a circular pit below.

Oak turned around and stared.

There was a fighting pit in the middle of the tavern, embedded deep into the floor. Gluk’s violent entry had made a bit of a mess, but Oak could tell this place had been awesome a couple hundred years back. There were paintings of different fighters on the wooden walls, and some of them seemed to be in good condition. Wrought-iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling and there were enough tables and chairs to fit a village or two inside the place.

As he walked towards the railing Gluk had stumbled over, Oak drew his hunting knife and the giant meat cleaver he had found from the butcher’s shop. A twisted yearning had awoken inside his heart.

Ruin is my work. Blood is my sacrament.

With a smile on his face, Oak jumped down into the pit.