"Lady Sylvia! Don't abandon us!" the snake people wail in dismay at the now inanimate piece of graffiti scrawled on to the cave wall. Morton lumbers into the chamber, disgorging a gout of flame from the nozzle mounted on his arm. Before anyone can react, a pair of snake people are swallowed by the fire, screaming in agony as they perish.

"DID YOU KNOW NEW THREATS EMERGE EVERYDAY?" Morton asks no one in particular as a brawny snake person wielding one of those crystal blade swords charges at him. There's a thunderclap as Morton's own scimitar parries the blow, stopping the attack dead in its tracks. The thews of the snake person's arms tremble with exertion, vainly attempting to power through Morton's guard. The armored monster is completely unimpressed and jabs the nozzle at the stomach of his opponent.

"No!" Morton's attacker screams in alarm right before the hungry flames lash out again, incinerating him to the bone. A blackened skeleton staggers out of the fire and crumbles into a heap of grey ash.

Ducking behind the crate, I wait for Morton to pass by, hoping for a chance to make a break for it. While I was expecting trouble in the mining complex, this scenario is way out of my league. And since the Avatar of Hackal had chosen to chicken out and keep hiding in its satchel, I was going to follow Loaner's example and run as far away from this mess as possible.

"Help me secure the Logos!" the guy holding on to the sphere yells and the rest of the snake people form a defensive phalanx around him. Morton stomps forward, swinging his scimitar and one of the defenders quickly goes down in bloody pieces. The rest of the snake people nevertheless press their weight into Morton, turning the fight into a mass scrum.

There's a titanic surge of magic as the snake people begin augmenting their strength and the entire group pushes as one, matching Morton's own strength. A harsh noise assaults my ears as Morton's iron boots scrape against the floor, the snake people slowly but surely forcing him backward, away from the man holding on to the Logos. Morton attempts to engage with his flame weapon, but several snake people grab his arm and yank hard to the side, sending a spray of fire right into the wall.

Morton roars in fury, a metallic unnatural sound. The joints of his armor clank as he forcibly lifts his flame weapon arm up, carrying the several snake people still hanging on with it. There's a cry of dismay from the mob as they batter Morton with their fists and weapons to no avail.

"We can only count on ourselves!" the man holding the Logos shouts, "No one else! Not even Lady Sylvia. By the blessing granted -"

"I never thought it would end this way!" someone sobs, tears running from his eyes.

"Stop this!" a snake person breaks ranks and lunges for the Logos, trying to stop whatever his comrade is trying to do, "You will end us all!"

"We're all going to die anyway!" a voice bickers back as Morton manages to free his scimitar and take another swing at the mob. There's a wet sucking sound and a fresh torrent of blood gushing all over the floor. Morton begins doggedly slashing away at the crowd and whatever doubts the snake people had about using the Logos are dashed away.

"By the blessing granted to us, creator god of gods, owner of this world -" the man holding the Logos raises it high above his head, letting its radiance descend upon the entire room. But deep within the heart of the Logos a small trace of muck stirs, mixing itself with the burning illumination. The light attains a dusky shade, throwing the entire chamber into twilight.

I swallow hard, recognizing the muck swirling about within the Snake People's Logos. Its the same venom injected by the Avatar into the Logos that I carry. The snake people throw their faces up with expressions of rapture, dread and most of all, sorrowful resignation.

"We submit to you, grant us strength, like the heroes of the past -" all the snake people take up the prayer now, chanting in unison. Morton twists his waist and with a great heave, manages to send the snake people hanging on to his flame weapon arm flying.

"So that we are no longer twain, but of one flesh -" the prayer reaches a crescendo and the Logos levitates in thin air, its light intensifying to the point the word of god becomes a miniature star. Even Morton is taken back, pausing the onslaught and raising an arm to shield his eyes.

"And let what the creator gods have put together, let no man put asunder!" the man holding the Logos declares with deadly finality.

The chest of each snake person begins to swell like a cancerous tumor, pulsating to the beat drummed out by the flickering light of the Logos. The entire crowd takes a collective breath, steeling themselves for the culmination of this ritual.

"ALL HAIL HACKAL!" everyone cries, their voices shaking the heavens.

The tumors explode, showering Morton with chunks of meat and coating his armor with a spray of crimson. From the blasted apart chest cavities emerge a pack of vipers, hissing sibilantly. The vipers begin to swarm Morton who hurriedly brings his flame weapon to bear and hoses the lot of them down with a tidal wave of fire.

"Holy shit!" I blurt out but no one notices me.

Everyone who's not Morton is already dead, and Morton has got far bigger problems to be eavesdropping on someone hiding behind a crate. The flames wash over the vipers, but they happily swim through it, coiling around Morton's legs and slithering up his entire body. Morton vigorously swings his scimitar about, sending sparks flying whenever he manages to hit one of the vipers. But this time none of the blows manage to draw blood. Instead, the blade of the scimitar is chipped from abuse, no match for the scales protecting the viper horde.

"Is this how the Avatars are born?" I muse to myself as Morton struggles fruitlessly.

The vipers bind his legs tight with their coils, causing the armored titan to topple over like a felled tree. Dazzling fangs bite into the once impervious armor, pumping its owner with venom. Morton shouts incoherently as he thrashes on the ground, trying to tear the vipers off his body. Its not doing him any good though. Morton's armor had sealed away his hands in favor of the pair of weapons directly mounted on the armor itself. He doesn't have the dexterity needed to extricate himself from the vipers.

The flame weapon droops uselessly, several bite marks puncturing the nozzle and mounting. The once torrential gouts of liquid flame have been reduced to a few impotent drops occasionally sputtering from the damaged weapon. Steam rises from the gashes ripped into Morton's armor and small flecks of rust begin to form at the edges of the damage.

"DAMAGE TO FILE STRUCTURE." Morton stutters.

What file? What structure? Morton is certainly a man of many secrets. But I suppose that comes with the territory of being connected to Ea. My main thought at the moment is the overwhelming sense of disappointment I have toward the Avatar hiding in its satchel. This should have been its time to shine, but instead the recently born vipers are getting all the glory.

"See that? That's how you do it." I rap the satchel with my knuckles in a show of dissatisfaction. The Avatar remains silent, too ashamed to respond. Or maybe its just gone back to sleep. Laziness rather than cowardice winning the day. Honestly, I don't know which is worse.

The vipers now begin crowding around the eye slits of Morton's helmet, slithering through the gap. Morton's struggles grow more desperate and banging noises start coming from within that iron suit he's wearing. Morton spasms hard as the last of the vipers disappear into the helmet's eye slit and he collapses spread eagled across the floor. The blade of the scimitar has been shattered, with a bare nub of metal remaining on the weapon's mount.

Silence reigns. The Logos of the snake people, satisfied in the battle's outcome, loses its luster and drops like a stone, sinking into the discarded clothes, weapons and exploded flesh piled across the battlefield.

Emerging from my hiding place, I shake my head and give the corpses of the snake people a sloppy salute. You all died so that I could live. And take your Logos, let's not forget that. The snake people might not have intended this outcome, but its the thought that matters. Wait, they didn't even know that I needed to be saved. So scratch that. Its the end result that matters.

Picking up the Logos from the heap of corpses, I clean it off with my sleeve and take the opportunity to give this new word of god an eyeful. Its completely inert of course, though I can make a good guess as to what its activation condition is. The snake people were feeding it blood before they used the Logos to contact Sylvia.

I've completed the first part of the assignment set by the Sage. Unfortunately, this has brought even more problems for me. I've got no idea what Sylvia has been doing, except that she's somehow connected to the snake people and almost certainly, the Avatars of Hackal. Plus there was that mystery voice whispering in my head just now. This trip has yielded more questions than answers. Nevertheless, I've got a few solid leads out of the entire affair, so I'll chalk this outing up as a win overall.

"PERFORMING HEURISTIC SEARCH." Morton suddenly booms out of the blue.

"Wow, you're tough aren't you?" I remark, "Completely crazy and incomprehensible, but tough."

Morton might be down and out, but he's still capable of shouting his nonsense at the whole world. Good for him I suppose, but all that means is I shouldn't be sticking around for too long.

"QUARANTINING." Morton responds, though I suspect he isn't actually talking to me.

A soft whirring sound starts up from within Morton's armor, reminding me of a demonstration I once witnessed at the market in Deshawn City. Some wizard was hawking his latest invention, a juice strainer than ran on magic crystal. You feed fruit into it and a set of rollers housed inside the gadget crush the fruit, squeezing out a fresh cup of juice. Pretty amazing stuff, but the wizard had hardly any takers for the invention since magic crystal was far more expensive than juice. But what stuck with me that day was the sound of the rollers starting up, that gentle whirring, like a bird flapping its wings.

Morton's entire body twitches and geysers of blood blossom from all the gashes in the armor, spraying outward in every direction. Before I can take cover, a geyser sprays me right in the face with the disgusting slurry. Staggering backward, I clean myself as best as possible, wiping away the blood and pieces of ripped apart snake skin.

Wait.

Snake skin?

Morton rises to his feet again, shaking both arms furiously. The corroded weapon mounts are sent clattering to the ground, revealing armored gauntlets underneath. Just how many layers of armor is this guy wearing anyway?

"Come on, come on, do your magic." I pat my bum anxiously, hoping that the Mark will protect me from Morton's sight once again.

Morton gazes at me, this time without any hesitation. I don't feel any pain coming from my ass, the Mark having gone all quiet at the worst possible moment. Imagine actually missing having ass pain.

The armored monster slams his iron knuckles together with a resounding clash and raises his fists at me. No need for me to wonder what Morton wants right now. I draw the dueling sword and point it straight at him with bravado I don't feel.

Guess the Avatar was the smart one after all.