Lord Remont stepped further into the mental construction of the Necropolis, and therefore further into Walter's mind. He approached a derelict temple, its architecture reminiscent of the Age of Miracles, dedicated to the worship of Gaia, though now crumbling to uselessness. Why have I not encountered any personalized symbols Walter cherishes, yet? Have I not trodden far enough in? The key to dominating him must be the manifestation of Lady Elin.

Far ahead, a simulacrum of Lady Elin prayed, and her sirenesque voice drifted to his ears. Though an illusion, his loins stirred, nonetheless. He couldn't yet see her, but the gentle glow from the temple's raised entrance beckoned him to peek. Lord Remont's blood surged. He reasoned the key to undoing Lady Elin's resistance existed in Walter's mind, somehow, the same as the Trojan horse to invade him laid with her.

He grinned and ascended the steps.

,,¡ʞɹǝsɹǝq,,

The more Rangville's soldiers stabbed Sir Eugene, the more he laughed, and he repaid their attacks with greater savagery. He forgot his spear's proper use, to pierce, and, with equal parts cursing and cheering, bashed it against an infantryman's helmet. It dented, then cracked, and finally deformed. The infantryman fell limp. Sir Eugene stepped over the body to skewer the next one to charge at Walter, strained his muscles, and lifted the squirming man into the air like a bird he caught.

In the face of his unmitigated cruelty, Rangville's infantry hesitated. An unleashed berserker was best not faced directly. While their ultimate magic, 'Berserk,' continued, common sense dictated stalling the fight. Their regeneration would undo any wound not immediately fatal, and their rage granted them physical power.

Ragnar, smiling like a hobgoblin gorging on fresh meat, sliced through life and limb. He honed in on the tiniest mistakes. The animalistic bloodlust from Sir Eugene felt honorable compared to Ragnar's vicious precision. The twirling twin blades separated hands from wrists, gouged eyes from their sockets, and slashed throats. If he stopped, then he simply had nothing to cut and waited for more. As little as Rangville's soldiers wanted to approach Sir Eugene, they desired to fight Ragnar less.

So, they pressed forward, trying to organize against the lethal insanity before them, and perishing. Yet, General Tybalt's orders left no room for misinterpretation. The wizard must be felled.

The soldiers that managed to slip by Sir Eugene or Ragnar died yet quicker. Non-magical armor, even the for the well-equipped Rangville soldiers, offered no protection to Elin's strikes whatsoever. She cut through men as cleanly as she cut through vegetables.

The snow at their feet pinked, then sloshed into a red soup.

Elin, however, felt pinned. Rangville archers moved into the infantry ranks, positioned a safe distance, and attempted to snipe Walter. If she moved too far away, then she couldn't deflect the arrows and defend him.

While the three protecting Walter refused to move, Wilmand's army lost its footing in Rangville's initial charge, and the front line degraded. Enemy soldiers threatened to surround them. When that happened, then archers could fire from all directions, and Elin doubted her ability to deflect them all.

Clack!

Again, the sensation of rotten syrup flowed over her. Unlike previously, when Walter triggered the scales, she felt the opposite of lust. Dread crept under her skin.

"Walter!" she called out, "Hurry!"

Lord Remont ascended the last step and peered into the temple.

Lady Elin was not present. His disappointed frown weighed down his mouth.

Instead, a magical doorway, 'Dimensional Portal,' floated in the center of the temple, the very same bridge to invite heroes into Eovamund. A red light glowed in the middle of the portal, a sphere the size of a tree trunk. Prayers ceased, but now Lord Remont knew their origin. The abyss.

"This doesn't make any sense. How can I even use this to control Walter? Where is the leverage to dominate Lady Elin?! What is this?! I demand my reward! What does this mean? I want her, damn it, where the fuck--"

,,˙ǝuᴉɯ s,ǝɥS ¿uᴉɐƃɐ no⅄,,

Lord Remont's throat seized from terror, and his breathing choked off. Somewhere the giant called out to him, yet, after he glanced around desperately, he could not see it.

Then, he did.

The red glowing orb in the abyss of the 'Dimensional Portal' blinked.

Sometimes, Lord Remont reignited the instinct to flee in his mentally broken maid, yet prevented freedom of movement. When bored, he tormented her, torturing her until she behaved like a frantic animal in a cage. Now, he understood the horrific situation.

A hand, twice his size, reached from the portal and pinned him to the stone floor. His skull clunked, and his vision blurred. Why me?! The faceless head of the abyssal giant moved over him. It breathed, and Lord Remont's hair whipped.

"I'll just end the spell!"

Lord Remont closed his eyes and waited. The pressure from the giant's palm continued to crush him. When he glimpsed at the giant's round and red eyes staring at him still, he whimpered.

"How?! Who are you to come to our world and ruin my plans! What is this trap? How is it possible! Tell me! I curse you, Sir Walter! I hope Ouroboros swallows you up! You and that bitch!"

The giant's head tilted.

,,¡ʇnO ˙ʇɔǝsuᴉ ssǝlɥʇɹoM ¿ǝW ¿ǝɯ ǝzᴉuƃoɔǝɹ uǝʌǝ ʇ,uop no⅄,,

Lord Remont sucked in a breath. Once again, he suffered the ignominy of being expelled from his own magic. Instead of rage or panic, he dry-heaved.

An image of Lady Elin, bound to him, flashed in his mind.

"I have to try again!"

"No, I don't think so, Remmy."

A healer's staff crashed into his knee.

Sparks of pain flew up Lord Remont's thigh, hip, and waist. When he tried to step to regain his balance, he misjudged the position of his foot and tripped. His knee hyperextended and broke the opposite of the joint's range of motion.

When he finished screaming, he said, "You?!"

Faux giggled and raised her hands in a shrug, "Did you miss me?"

"Are you betraying the Cult? Why are you sabotaging me?!"

The raven-haired healer slow-blinked. After processing his accusation, laughter erupted from her, and she clutched her stomach. Her hair fluttered like feathers. When her fit subsided, she wiped her eyes, "Me sabotaging you, are you really this stupid? That's backward."

Lord Remont gripped his leg to hold off the pain throbbing in his knee. "I don't understand!"

Faux rolled her eyes, squatted, and propped her chin on her hand. Lord Remont felt like a bug poked on a twig and being examined by an innocently-cruel child. He suffered, and she showed no satisfaction. His unnecessary pain created no purpose. "Let's have a small history lesson, okay? Why did they draft the Summoner's Treaty?"

"What?" Lord Remont gritted his teeth and shook his head to clear it, "To maintain the balance of power between the nations."

Faux's palm collided with Lord Remont's cheek, and he rolled on his side from the force. Contrary to the power of her answer-correcting punishment, she lacked any anger. "Wrong. It's because people revere heroes. You see, Ouroboros was gobbling them all up before they could make it through the 'Dimensional Portal,' or, you know, corrupting them. That created a deep-rooted issue for the religions and their hero-worship. The practice was banned to side-step the predicament, and one of their best moral choices, probably."

Remont swallowed blood. His mouth refilled again. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You don't even realize it? Really? Stupid moron. How do you think Walter got to Eovamund unless Ouroboros allowed it? It's what the goddess wanted."

"But," Lord Remont's eyes widened, "I didn't know! It's not my fault!"

"Oh, please. If you just stopped thinking with your dick for ten seconds, you would have put two-and-two together. Well, I can't entirely blame you, I made a few oversights myself." Faux looked over at the distant battlefield. "Oh, look, the show is starting! Now, be quiet. I want to see how Walter slays a dragon."