I cast my eyes about, looking for any trace of Loaner, but it just confirms my first impression. Loaner's gone. Just like how my horse ran off just before the disastrous battle duel with Mandor. Loaner's got a well refined sense of self preservation and if it had decided to make itself scarce, it meant that whatever's ahead is probably going to be exceedingly dangerous. Licking my lips nervously, I begin to consider my options.

The smart move would be to return to the Dasar estate and come back with reinforcements. I had already taken down one of the invisible walls, so there was nothing stopping the Dasars from reclaiming the abandoned mine. Unfortunately, leaving now would also allow whomever was behind the mine's collapse to clean their tracks. Should have waited for Ramon to sober up before coming here to investigate.

If the Morgan was right, the mine was central to unravelling the disappearance of Sylvia, Richard's wife. I couldn't allow any evidence that might be hiding inside to miraculously disappear. Circumstances had already decided my course of action, personal safety be damned.

"Here goes than." I say to reassure myself, cautiously creeping into the mine, my lower body stirring up the water pooling at the base of the corridor. The suffocating gloom descends upon me as I trek deeper into the mine and I feel a subtle current pushing back against me. The mine even now was still flushing out its detritus. I had to be careful, death by drowning might be a real risk if water was filling the passages up.

Drawing a cigarette, I light up and take a hearty puff to steady my nerves. My magic flows into the small flame, turning the cigarette into a makeshift, albeit lousy torch. Its good enough to drive away the darkness around me though, and I make my way forward with greater confidence. The entire mine shakes, the reverberations causing me to stumble slightly.

Damn. Is the place still collapsing?

I come to an intersection while clicking my tongue at the situation. On the right the corridor leads downward, but it has been completely flooded leaving it impassable, unless I fancied a swim. Straight ahead the path inclines upward, taking me to what would presumably be dry ground. Swimming was never my strongest suit and there was no telling how much of the corridor to the right had been flooded. The spirit of caution easily wins the day and upward it is.

As I crest the slope, my soaked clothes dragging me down the whole way, I note with some relief that the higher levels of the mine are indeed dry. And even more promisingly, lanterns have been hung from the walls at regular intervals, providing some much needed light. So somebody is still lurking in the mine as I had suspected. Stubbing the cigarette out and picking up the pace, I begin to scan the area with my senses, alert for any danger.

And my ears immediately home in on a sound close by. Running water.

Following the noise, I turn round a bend in the corridor that leads to a large circular room carve out of the mine. The place has been completely wrecked, with cots and assorted furniture smashed all over the ground. Suspicious bloodstains speckle the walls coupled with deep scorch marks. My footsteps stir up a small cloud of carbonized ash that had settled in a layer across the floor. A fight had broken out here obviously, but my attention is being pulled toward the wall where the sound of running water is coming from.

A portrait had been painted on the wall in vibrant colors, portraying a flashily dressed woman with her arms outstretched, beckoning the viewer with a welcoming embrace. A viper rests on the woman's shoulder like a shawl, its mouth bared open, showing off a set of sharp fangs. The face on the wall painting has been destroyed by a cruel gash carved into the rock, with water pouring out of the hole. The descending water has made a small pool at the base of the painting, but left unattended, this section of the mine would become flooded as well.

Giving the wreckage around me a cursory search, I find amidst the junk and torn apart furniture a strange long sword. Instead of steel, the weapon's entire blade seems to have been carved out of solid dark crystal. The sheer amount of magic the weapon radiates also takes me by surprise. Anyone hit by this was going to feel it, one way or the other. This crystal long sword was a treasure and would sell for a hefty sum in the markets of Deshawn City. Only a fool would abandon a prize like this.

Or someone extremely desperate.

"Who cares. Its my gain anyway." I shrug, bending over to pick up the crystal long sword. Even if I gain nothing other than this weapon from the trip to the mines, the whole journey has already been more than worth it.

Then I realize that I can't even pick the crystal long sword up. My arms strain at the weight and even with my strength amplified many times over with magic, I'm barely able to lift the blasted thing a few inches off the ground. My legs tremble from the strain and I'm forced to let go of the weapon, causing it to fall with a resounding clang. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I give the crystal long sword an annoyed glare.

This stupid thing can barely be lifted up, let alone used properly as a weapon. I take back all the praise I just said about it. The crystal long sword is obviously some kind of novelty item.

Leaving the circular room behind me, I continue following the lanterns along the twisting corridors. There's more of that ash and signs of struggle, except now I can hear an odd squeaking in the distance, reminding me of a set of rusty hinges. Before I can make sense of this latest development, shouting echoes down the corridor.

Human shouting.

"Don't run you cowards! Hold your ground!"

Sounds like a party is going down right now. Drawing the dueling sword, I begin to advance forward step by step, keeping low. As the noise of the squeaking grows steadily louder, I pause at the bend of the corridor, leaning slightly to peek out.

Utter pandemonium greets my eyes. A broad shouldered man in full plate armor wades forward into a mob of men and women, who scatter like a flock of frightened birds. The armored man is completely encased in a suit of steel, with the squeaking noise coming from the joints of the armor as he moves about. In place of regular gauntlets, the armored man bears a pair of bizarre tools in their stead. On what would be his right hand is a broad bladed scimitar, mounted on a metal cap where the gauntlet would be. And on the left is a nozzle, the type you see in taverns which the barman uses to dispense ale straight from the barrel.

"AT WORK OR AT PLAY, MORTON PROTECTS YOU EVERYDAY."

The armored man booms in an overpowering voice from behind his full face helmet and raises the nozzle. Instead of ale, a rush of liquid fire is sprayed out of the nozzle and the armored man, Morton I presume, liberally douses the crowd before him. People begin screaming as they collapse, overwhelmed by the flames. Morton keeps spraying the liquid fire, steadily incinerating the victims thrashing on the ground.

"Shit. That's where all the ash has been coming from." I swallow hard at the scene. This has become way more hardcore than I expected.

"Fight back! We must fight back!" someone in the crowd yells, trying to rally his fellows.

A handful of men and women push their way forward to confront Morton and I now realize what the mob shares in common with each other. All their skin is molting, exactly the same as Morgan. What's different here is the degree. Some members of the mob have been living with their condition for a long time, the people eager to fight Morton especially so. Large parts of their skin have sloughed away, revealing tough snake hide and as one woman shouts in defiance, I can see that most of her teeth have dropped out in favor of a set of razor sharp fangs.

"APPLICATION OF SUSPICIOUS ACTIVITY." Morton roars at his challengers.

Suspicious activity? Talk about being a master of understatement there. Everything here is suspicious. And I get another surprise as the crowd draw their weapons, crystal long swords. Except this ragged group wield the blades as if they were as light as feathers. A palpable yet invisible weight washes over the entire area, thanks to the sheer accumulated power those weapons represent.

"Curse you Ea!" one woman yells spiritedly, gesturing with her crystal long sword, "Everyone, together!"

The entire group blurs, flash stepping forward to intercept Morton before he can even react. In the space of an eyeblink, Morton is completely surrounded and the crystal swords are brought down on him with cataclysmic force. There's a shower of sparks and even the ground fractures from the combined force of the blows raining on Morton.

Even my teeth are rattling from the strength of those guys. I would have been splattered a hundred times over from that attack. Everyone in the crowd is seriously strong. I doubt I would even be able to handle a rando from the mob without trouble.

But Morton's armor remains completely pristine. There's not even a dent from all the impacts.

"MORTON, KEEPING YOU SAFE. ALWAYS." the armored man declares.

With an indifferent swing of his scimitar arm, Morton bisects the woman neatly at the waist. The rest of her accomplices don't fare any better as they get mowed down in short order. The scimitar shimmers and all the blood staining it drips away like water off a duck's back. Morton presides over the carnage, his armor and weapons as pristine as the day they were forged. The nozzle mounted on the left arm comes to life again, disgorging a blast of fire to consume the fresh corpses. The mob takes advantage of Morton's distraction to try fleeing again, with a group of them breaking past him and straight in my direction.

I turn and begin running, hoping to outpace the incoming trouble, but its too late. Someone catches sight of me.

"Nair! You came back!" a rando grabs me by the shoulders with barely contained desperation, "We thought you and Lady Sylvia had abandoned us!"

"Uh yeah." I mutter dazedly, eyeing the man's ruined face, half of it scarred with snake skin. On the plus side, the satchel containing the Avatar of Hackal has started to inflate, bouncing away on my ass. I feel the satchel's weight begin to steadily increase as well. That's good, even great. The Avatar must be getting ready to throw down against Morton. And if there's anyone that can stop that armored monster, its the Avatar.

"Where are the rest?" the rando demands, "You said you were going to bring the rest of the brothers and sisters to mount a rescue!"

Before I can reply, the rando gives an ear piercing shriek as Morton's scimitar takes his head. The armored man roughly pushes rando aside and I'm confronted by the featureless mask. There's nothing but infinite darkness behind the eye slit on Morton's mask, but I sense a calculating intelligence judging me, weighing me up.

Then the Avatar's satchel abruptly deflates, returning to its original dimensions.

"Oh, come on!" I curse, backing away nervously, "Don't tell me a dark god is scared of this guy as well?"

"MALICIOUS ... MALICIOUS ... MA ... MA ..." Morton begins to stutter as he glares at me, the mark of Hackal burning like the sun against my bum.

I quickly scoot past Morton as he spazzes out, and he thankfully ignores me in favor of whatever fit he's experiencing at the moment. Hackal managed to come through for me at the last moment, praise the dark god.

The moment Morton breaks eye contact with me he promptly continues with his rampage, pursuing the hapless mob down the tunnels. But my heart nearly jumps to my throat as I catch sight of the inscription embossed on the back of Morton's torso plate.

Morton Safeguard. Licensed to EA.

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