The red moon swooned over lake Elaine that night, turning the silver water into bleeding blood. Smoke and death in the chilling wind were breathed by the silent guard watching over the castle in the lavish courtyard. While the soldiers were on full alert, they did not expect some shadows that rose from the treelines, looming over the curtain of sky. Weapons in their arms, they observed down the streetlamp lit road leading up to the castle hill. The lieutenant informed them that the Major would soon arrive, but everyone else wasn’t allowed without permission, be it the press or the police. Still, they could see the news vans waiting in the distance when the conference would begin. Some reporters were already arrested, trying to sneak in with the most absurd means.

“Is that a bird?” One asked, leaning on a pillar.

“A bit big for one, wouldn’t you think?”

While one needed glasses for his poor sight, the other guard could start discerning the shapes of the few figures.

“Maybe they’re chimney long-legs?” One squinted his eyes.

“Wait...”

Even if it was for a small moment, the other guard saw a pair of white dots gleaming in the moonlight. In that small moment, something unexpected happened. The soldier experienced a sensation that he would have never guessed.

“I mean, I don’t know any other big birds around here.” One scratched his head. “Hey, are you listening?”

He turned and saw his partner dropping his weapon on the ground, looking up into the sky.

“What are you doing?”

“W-What?” The other muttered.

“Don’t say you didn’t hear me-”

The guard could see some other soldiers drop their guns. Some smiled, some stared emptily, some cried. Around a tenth of everyone on patrol acted the same, one by one. Weapons filled the fine gravel like a grotesque art piece.

“What the hell is going on?”

The one guard looked up again, but now he could see them as well. Five figures flew closer and closer, heading straight to the castle. Flying enemies were rare but not unheard of, especially in times like these.

“We got intruders!”

The others looked and pointed their weapons, but some stayed still, waiting.

“Hurry! Contact the other squads!”

“It’s too late.”

“What are you on about? Send the message! I don’t have a radio on me!”

“Okay.”

A moment passed as the man closed his eyes and concentrated. Finally, he opened his eyes again, only to stare back at the sky.

“Did you do it?” The other asked.

“...Yes.”

“We need to prepare to fire.”

Inside, Jessie got alerted by some sound coming from the opened window on the other side of the castle. Even though the building was large, some open windows let distant sounds travel inside.

“Did you hear something?” Lionel asked.

“Some uproar is happening. I wonder if another journalist tried to sneak in.” Jessie listened. “Is there any report coming in?” She turned to the telepath.

“No, there are none.” He answered.

“That’s odd. Well, at least the Major is coming soon.”

“I need to get ready for the conference.” Lionel stood up, stumbling in his steps.

“Are you sure you are in condition to make a speech, sir?”

“Oh, miss. You don’t know how many politicians make their speeches drunk. You only need to lean on the booth, keep your eyes open and smile wide and they will take it; hook, line, and sinker.”

“If you are that sure...”

“Kiku, is the hall prepared already?”

“Not quite yet, sir, but you are welcome to prepare there.”

“Rehearsal is everything; improvisation is golden.” Lionel shuffled out of the room.

“Are you alright with this, miss Gotthold?”

“He IS quite drunk tonight, but I trust his efforts.”

“I would love to have your commitment.”

“It is not as precious as you think. By the way, I happened to catch some of your conversations earlier. Is the party and Mr. Potomac found and secured?”

“Yes, he is, but by my understanding, not all of the party members have been found. Why do you ask?”

“By more unfortunate chance, we would have had to train a new servant. We might face payment fees for perished Guild members as well.”

“There is a good chance that the rest of the members will be found. Spec operates scarily well.”

“Frankly, there are other pressing matters at hand. Our mission is to suppress negative publicity at all costs.”

“That must not be easy.” Jessie thought of the drunkard she had just seen.

“Truly, but who does not love an endearing challenge?” Gotthold smiled with the faintest sign of joy.

Meanwhile, one grumpy-looking dark-clothed figure walked forward at the gates, shortly followed by his quiet disciplines. He looked at the statues and decorations as pompous and vain, hoping to bring them down later.

“They still live in these castles? The culture is quite stagnant here.” Vortigern sneered.

“Stop right there!” A soldier screamed.

A group of soldiers gathered near the courtyard’s center, aiming their weapons. One of them, most likely a squad leader, stood in front.

“What a bizarre weapon. Not magical, but I sense danger.” Vortigern inspected the gun from afar.

“I said stop!” The soldier could only hear foreign speak.

“Threats are meaningless if there is no weight behind them.”

“Identify yourself!”

Deasdùn realized the problem. “Lord, he is asking to introduce yourself.”

“I am well aware, but they do not need to know who I am.”

“Answer me, or I will shoot you!” The soldier’s aim shook.

“By all means, please try,” Vortigern smirked.

“I am not kidding; I’ll shoot!”

“Please do not waste my time. If you cannot kill a man standing before you, abandon your title and live off by the society like a rat you are.”

The man did not understand his words, but anyone could recognize the tone and face and determine what it meant. It was a mix of arrogance and cynical apathy.

Upon that temptation, the soldier fired a bullet where he believed it would stop that mouth from spouting its irritating words. Before Vortigern could raise his silver eyebrows, the bullet had traveled a short distance and neared the center of his forehead. The other soldiers were shocked that someone fired, as they were heavily trained to handle their weapons right with severe punishments. They were not permitted to shoot yet, which could, in the worse case, mean they would face criminal charges.

It was then that the soldier finally understood. Through his sights, the man saw pitch-black scales growing out of the brow of Vortigern, jamming the bullet between them.

“Oh, so that machine shoots out these tiny pieces of metal?” Vortigern wedged the bullet out. “What a curious invention.”

The scales retreated under his skin like the claws of a cat. His skin was as if untouched, without any sign of injury. The soldiers were in disbelief, as that was the only thing keeping their sanity upon viewing the utter difference between them and the being that stood before them.

Fighting back his fear, the soldier pulled the trigger back. He released a deadly burst of bullets toward Vortigern and his followers like sudden rainfall.

“Still, these things-” Vortigern was about to speak.

Even with a trained eye, the soldier only saw blurs as Vortigern moved his hands and body. It created gusts of wind that fluttered their clothes. The bullets stopped as the magazine emptied. The shots dropped to the ground facing the flurry of hands.

The menacing figure smiled upon them, not as a surprise but in frightful terror, having not even lost his breath. “-They are too slow.”

“Hmph. What a terrible sight to behold. Since when have soldiers been hopeless without their weapons?”

His hands were clad in dark scales like armor with long, sharp-looking fingers. It was as if looking straight at an armored demon. Even if the man before the guard was no bigger than the guard himself, the threat it imposed was more remarkable than any beast or monster. Whatever the man was, he was far beyond human, and by the looks on his face, he knew. Yet, before the soldier could grab a spare magazine, the sinister lord had disappeared, much like the soldier’s index finger. It dropped to the ground like a used cigarette while the hand gushed blood like a broken garden hose.

“Captured archers used to be snapped off their right-hand fingers. The method seems to still hold true.” Vortigern cleaned his scales.

Vortigern marched forward, leaving the soldier screaming as he desperately pressed the wound. “Now excuse me; I have dealings with the Duke.”

Vortigern walked past the defeated soldiers. They didn’t dare to move, or they felt their necks would fall off. It lasted well until the dark lord reached the front doors.

“Lord, how should we handle the rest of the soldiers?” Deasdùn asked.

“Do as you please. I have no use for the weak-willed.”

“As you wish.”

The silence was teeming with danger laid out as the lord disappeared behind two large doors that he had no problem opening, leaving his subjects to their own. Near the soon-to-be massacre, most remaining soldiers didn’t know what to do anymore. The situation was not under their control, even less than before.

“Those are probably the terrorists.” A guard whispered behind a pillar.

“What should we do? We don’t stand a chance!” Another one answered behind the fountain.

“We need to hold out.”

“How? I mean, those four are mages, right?”

“Let them be court wizards of great sages. They die like the rest of us. Besides, we have the advantage.”

“I would not be so sure,” Deasdùn fired a gold-ingrained pistol.

A sparkling slug swirled from the barrel through the splashing water of the fountain and the soldier's helmet. The ensuing explosion left only a limb body to fall back into the water.

“They are armed!” The surviving guard took cover.

He hid around the thick marble pillar. It provided good cover as long as nothing would flank him.

“Hmph, you think you can hide?” Deasdùn aimed.

With the flick of the trigger, another projectile flew out with vibrant colors. The soldier squeezed behind the pillar just to be sure. Yet, as the bullet was about to pass, it let out a loud bang like a firecracker. It spun in the air until it turned around the right way and exploded again. It painted the walls red as it hit the target. The bishop kept firing, taking out anyone that wasn’t hiding under reinforced concrete. Pillars fell, the statues cracked, and the gravel turned red.

“Oh, we’re going already?” Tuatcnoc took off his shoes.

“Stop, we got you surrounded!” Soldiers yelled.

A group of soldiers jumped out of their cover and aimed at the lonely cultist. Even though the soldier did not see it, a broad smile made Tuatcnoc’s teeth shine under the mask, and his bright eyes sparkle. His hands rose as if surrendering. It relieved the soldiers as many spells required hand movement, and now they could shoot him if he were to move.

As their guard was down, Tuatcnoc chanted his magic.

“Kaleidoscope: Café au lait Marais.”

“Incantation! Stop him!”

It was too late. The ground gave away under the soldiers’ feet, sinking them like having thrown off the harbor. As they tried to pull one foot out, the other sunk further. It made them drop their aim as the ground was like quicksand. Soon they threw away their weapons to try and drag themselves out, but the edge would always melt away.

“How? Did he hide a Nazar behind that mask?” One of the soldiers thought during their desperate attempts to survive.

“Ten points! My Nazar makes me able to control the elements, turning them into whatever I want. I heard that explaining your spell made it stronger, so it should sink you faster. Sorry, boys, but you’ll be dying there.” Tuatcnoc walked away from the soldiers screaming mercy.

Eargaoth watched as the last bits of the soldiers’ heads sunk underneath the earth. The fear in their eyes fell to the eternal darkness of the underground. Some air bubbles kept rising to the top but would soon become less frequent until coming to a complete stop. Eargaoth had only one thing to say.

“Cnoc, could you raise them to the surface?”

“What? Sure.” Tuatcnoc made the bodies rise like bloated corpses back on top.

“Your magic is quite frightening,” Eargaoth closed their eyes.

“Says you. Are you done there, Dùn?”

“In a moment!” Deasdùn yelled under gunfire.

“Cnoc, you and Largaoth should head inside,” Eargaoth recommended. “Dùn and I will handle this.”

“Whatever. I was getting bored here anyway.” Tuatcnoc melted the wall for him to fit through.

Largaoth nodded silently and headed inside after the other cultist.

Sitting next to one of the bodies, Eargaoth took out his knife. He sliced open his finger and carefully let the blood flow to the blade. Sinking the bloodied blade deep in their chests, Eargaoth chanted his dark magic.

“Drawing my blood, I draw life. Veins of strings, heart a ball of yarn. Sow and weave this body, a doll, until it is broken. Until then, you will reap. Rise, Blood Marionette.”

The bodies twitched abnormally, rising as if being pulled up. Their arms swayed from side to side, and the head was left jerking up and down. Even though its legs wobbled like a pair of wet noodles, the body kept its composure. It was no longer a man, but a hunk of flesh kept moving with magic that turned its joints and kept it somewhat intact. Though they did not speak, the men groaned once they coughed all the dirt out of their pale mouths.

“Your rituals are as morbid as I remember.” Deasdùn returned.

“These puppets won’t last long, but they will cause some chaos.”

“Soon, we will never need to resort to these puny tricks.”

“Hmph, true. My family would finally be free to practice true magic.”

“Nor do we need to buy these items.”

“Dùn.” Eargaoth gazed at the moon.

“Yes?”

“Nevermind. It was a foolish question.”

“I do not mind foolish questions.”

“...We need more puppets. I will go and use the ones you shot.” Eargaoth fled the scene.

“Alright. I will find a good place to observe from. I will notify you of any threats.”

“Make sure not to explode them too much. A limb or two is fine, but the torso is needed.”

“Alright. Just take care of yourself.”

Inside the castle, Jessie began to suspect not all was right.

“I just heard shots coming from outside. Riviera, are there any reports?”

“No, ma’am. None at all.” Riviera, the telepath, said.

“Damn it. What the hell is happening out there?”

“I will call security.” Gotthold took out her phone. “Come on, answer me.”

“It picked up.” She heard something.

“Hello?” Someone answered.

“This is Gotthold. What is the situation down there?”

“Well, miss Gotthold, I can’t tell for sure.”

“What type of answer is that? Who is this?”

“Let me check. The badge says ‘Scott Afton.’ Must have been a hell of a job being the security around here.”

“Who are you?”

“One of the archbishops of our lord, of course.”

“So you are one of those terrorists. What is your objective?”

“We came here to have a chat with Duke Lionel. Do you mind putting him on the phone?”

“I will not comply with terrorists.”

“We just want to have a little chat. If we both act nicely, no one will get hurt. At least anymore.”

“Who is this Lord of yours?”

“You’ll see. He is coming for you. Right now.”

Gotthold’s eyes scrolled to the terrifying sound of the door. After listening to their conversation, Jessie could see Gotthold’s petrified face and slowly pulled out her sidearm. The other soldiers in the room took out their weapons, save for a few. The doorknob turned, and the door squeaked as something slowly pulled it open. A pale hand slipped in. Tension rose as the soldiers now held their fingers on the trigger. Suddenly, the door swung open. Someone stepped in, having leaned on the door.

“Hold it! It’s one of us!” Gotthold yelled.

Indeed, it was a person wearing a butler uniform, though something was off about him. The man was pale as a sheep and wobbled like grass in the wind.

“Kiku...” The man groaned.

“Is he one of your workers?” Jessie asked.

“He works at the lounge. Zebro, what happened?”

The man stepped forward from the door, revealing his bloodied hand. Jessie noticed a wound on him that still bled on the carpet. It was something blunt, closely resembling a bite mark.

“It hurts. I feel sick. Please help me...” Zebro struggled.

“Stay still!” Jessie was concerned. “Something is not right.”

“No, Kiku, help me. I need to go home. To my son.”

Gotthold watched as her co-workers’ skin veins pumped and bulged until his eyes began bleeding. His nails fell off, along with his hair and teeth. Whatever the grotesque bleeding mass he had become, the man kept begging.

“Please, Kiku. Ulric got worse. He needs his medication. Please...”

As Zebro looked up to find hope, what he saw was despair. Tears, but not from her. She had nothing to give to him. Not an ounce of sympathy, even for the years they served together. That all meant nothing to her once he became a nuisance. At that moment, Zebro knew he was cast into the darkness.

“Shoot him.” Gotthold blinked.

“Are you sure?” Jessie asked.

“He is no longer human nor staff. It might work for the enemy.”

“I understand.” Jessie aimed.

“Kiku? Kiku! No, don’t. Please, I’m begging you! ” Zebro’s eyes bled a mix of tears and blood.

“Goodbye, Zebro.” Gotthold closed her eyes.

The gun fired, and it was over in an instant. The man lay on the floor, bleeding from the head.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Jessie put her gun away.

“Don’t be. It was his fault for being weak. He knew what was coming.”

A sinister laugh echoed from the phone. “I hope you enjoyed your little surprise.”

“You are going to pay for mocking us. Wait.” Gotthold realized. “He is in the monitor room!”

“The enemy has control of the cameras. Destroy any security cameras you see.” Jessie ordered.

“I will personally see that your head will mount the highest pike on this building.” Gotthold grimaced on the phone.

“As much as I love our little heart-to-heart talk, I got other things to do, so bye!” Tuatcnoc threw the phone away.

“Cnoc, the Duke is not with the people inside his office.” Eargaoth delivered his message.

“I already got that.” Tuatcnoc looked at the cameras. “Your puppets seem to go at it infecting the staff.”

“Most of the guards have no magic. I will instruct the puppets to search through all rooms, but it will take some time.”

“I thought finding the security room would be a good idea, but the cameras are only in some hallways.” Tuatcnoc spun on a bloody office chair among dead bodies.

“Is there a floorplan of the building?” Eargaoth asked.

“Yeah.” Tuatcnoc noticed it on the wall. “What should I do with it?”

“We must work fast, so I recommend that you check any rooms that you see on that map where the Duke might be.”

“Alright. hang on a minute.” Tuatcnoc took a closer look.

“While you’re at it, try to take out the rest of any soldiers that come in your way.”

“You didn’t need to tell me that. Besides, I already have an idea.”

“Be careful. Some of them are mages.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

“I know you are confident in your abilities, but you shouldn’t underestimate them.”

“They’re the ones looking down at us. I’m just going to show them what we can do.”

“Focus on the mission. We are not here to pick a fight, Cnoc.”

“Yeah, for now. It’s not as if the government is going to let us walk. Are you ready to fight for lord Vortigern?”

“...That can only be answered when the time comes.”

“That must be some of that deeper wisdom you keep talking about.”

“You can think about it while working.”

“Maybe I’ll think one up on the fly.”

“Do whatever as long as you get the job done. I must concentrate on the situation outside. Contact me only when necessary.”

“Yeah yeah. I’ll be going.”

“Then-”

“Take care too, Ergie.”

“What have I told you about that name? Nevermind. Go to work.”

“Hmph, fine.”

Sitting around next to a pile of ravaged bodies, Eargaoth felt a tiny bit of joy before heading out to continue monitoring the site.

Dim streetlights lit the MSV moving through the silent city. The buildings stood in the darkness, and only the trees rustled in the streets.

“There’s fairly little police going around.” Diarmuid noticed.

“I see that as well. I should check on Lieutenant Ramsay.” James continued driving.

“Come in, Ramsay. Is everything alright? Over.” James waited. “Nothing.”

“I don’t like this feeling.“ Diarmuid watched the castle. “Shouldn’t there be a patrol here?”

“There is someone on the road.”

A mysterious figure stumbled on the road.

“The whole city should be under curfew.” James reminded.

“I was just about to ask that. Should we stop and talk to her?”

The car stopped next to the woman, who, upon closer inspection, was shaking and looked shocked beyond belief.

James rolled down the window. “Excuse me, miss. You should not be outside. it is not safe here.”

“...A-are you part of the border patrol?” The woman asked.

“She’s a reporter.” Diarmuid noticed the microphone on her.

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“You don’t know? We heard shots, and...No one came back from there.”

“Please head inside. It is not safe here.”

“Could you give any insight on the situation?”

The question made James raise his eyebrow. Whether it was an honest question or a way to get more information didn’t matter, as the code was all the same.

“We are not allowed to disclose any information. Head inside, or you will be fined.”

The car continued and soon found itself ascending the castle hill. It was quiet, eerily quiet—no guard in sight. The once fancy yard was destroyed beyond belief, yet the emptiness made it far more disturbing.

“Something went down here,” Diarmuid said.

“Where are the guards?” James asked.

Suddenly, a blinding spark hit the front of the car. It blew the bonnet off like a flimsy piece of plastic. The whole MSV recoiled backward.

“What was that?” James looked out.

“A missile?”

“Whatever it was, it destroyed the engine. Everybody, out!”

“Major, I think we have a problem.” Diarmuid looked outside.

Their former soldiers, a horde of nefarious zombies, marched from the darkness to consume the crew. Their bony fingers stripped the paint and scratched the windows while their blood slushed out as they pushed against the doors. There was no escape as the cold flesh of dozens of undead covered the vehicle from all sides, tumbling it from side to side.

“What have they done to them? We cannot let them inside.” James watched the zombies bang on the windows.

“And they won’t let us out.”

Another shot rang, splintering the glass of the front window. James watched as it cracked, making the clear view now a landscape of white mess.

“Major, there’s a sniper on the roof!” Diarmuid noticed from the front seat.

“Bulletproof glass.” Deasdùn reloaded. “That is going to cost me so many bullets.”

“Can you handle it, Dùn?” Eargaoth asked.

“Keep your puppets around the car. Once the glass breaks, I will have them all.”

“They have us surrounded,” James said.

“What should we do, major?”

Within moments, James had figured out a plan.

“Mount it.”

“Roger that.” Diarmuid smiled.

“Weird, I was sure they would have done something,” Deasdùn observed. “Wait, someone jumped to the backseat.”

A metal plate on the roof of the car popped open. Deasdùn watched in horror as a short black barrel peaked out, operated by Diarmuid.

“Eat this!” Diarmuid aimed.

The turret spun at least as fast as Deasdún’s heart While it aimed at him.

Though the MSV was meant for transport, it had defense systems for situations that required confrontation. The standard model Dragonfire MK 2 medium machine gun fired 600 rounds per second, ravaging both ammunition and enemy targets. It made no difference if that target was armored or behind cover. It made rubble of anything in the short time it took to empty a full belt-fed 6000 round magazine.

Deasdùn fled on the roof tiles as Diarmuid destroyed them behind him. A trail of smoke rose from the gun with the smell of gunpowder. The rapid fire made a horrible sound of a roaring dragon while the nonstop barrage of bullets trailed out of the eight barrels. Only a desperate jump to the other side of the sloped rooftop saved Deasdùn from becoming a shredded pile of minced meat.

“Cumhaill, stop wasting ammo!”

“There’s still about half left.”

“Get inside.” James tugged.

“Alright.” Cumhail pulled the mechanism down.

“Damn, that was close.” Deasdùn huffed. “Largaoth, are you not ready yet?”

“...Soon.”

“Hurry up! We cannot let them inside!”

The silent archbishop had made its way to the cellar floor, where it lay on the ground praying in solemn. His magic required long preparation, in turn, for its powerful effect.

“Dùn, can you still give supporting fire?” Eargaoth asked.

“I need a minute to relocate, or they will blast me again.”

“Hurry, the puppets cannot hold without support.”

“Major, what should we do? The enemy has retreated.”

“Everyone, are you ready to fight?” James turned over his shoulder.

None of them made any more sound than short breaths as if hyperventilating. Battered soldiers filled the back of the car, who hunched over with their lost spirits and shaky hands.

“I don’t know if we should try to fight with these troops, major.” Diarmuid glanced at them.

“I know, but our options are slim.”

“Then, what should we do?”

“We need to make do with all the forces we have available.”

“Is he looking at us?” Slacume noticed.

“You, butler, do you know the layout of the castle?" James asked.

"Y-yes, I know."

"Good. You will go in."

"Wait, what?"

"Monk, can you help us to clear the way inside?"

“These things are nothing against my blade,”

“Well, we got two. How about you, boy?” Diarmuid turned. "You can escape in the battle, but we can't keep you safe after that."

"I won't run away."

"Can you shoot?" James asked.

"Well, yes."

“Good. I trust you with this weapon.” James offered his pistol.

Orel realized he was misunderstood but decided to let it go in the heat of the moment.

“Are you going to ask me, Major?” Diarmuid waited.

“You do not need encouragement, Cumhaill.”

“Alright, listen up! The enemy has a sniper on the roof, and we do not know their numbers. We cannot hold out in the MSV waiting for support. Our best course of action is to break through the frontlines and head inside. Any objections?”

“What about us, major?” Angus asked.

“You are going to retreat with my lead while the others provide a distraction.”

“Wait, you aren’t going with us?” Diarmuid asked.

“Captain Cumhaill, I leave you in responsibility to secure the castle.”

Diarmuid looked at James' stone-serious eyes, seeing the unrelenting tenacity. He had no other option for a reply. Even though there was no other option, Diarmuid felt strangely glad to be trusted.

“Yes, major.” Diarmuid Shook hands with James.

“But how is this going to work? We’re still surrounded.” Slacume reminded.

“I have a suggestion.” Isao raised his hand.

“Well?” James asked.

Deasdùn had found another spot on the western side of the roof, yet he could not see any action. He had made sure to keep an eye on them, feigning retreat so that he could bring out the soldiers. His sight was clear and on point, waiting in silence to shoot any escapees.

What he did not see coming was a blinding flash, followed by roaring thunder. As Deasdùn could see again, the zombies around the MSV were burned to the bone, leaving only charred bodies. At that moment, all of them fell, leaving only scattered groups around the entrance.

“What the hell was that? Was that a mage?”

Before Deasdùn could begin bordering his question, the roof panel opened again, and bullets rained on him. As he took cover, Deasdùn saw two groups leading out of the vehicle. A group of soldiers ran down the hill while a jumble of people headed towards the castle. Deasdùn decided that those who were advancing were more important and fired back. Usually, his seeking bullets had no trouble hitting the target; now, his concentration was interrupted by Diarmuid shooting the rest of the magazine at him.

Isao led the group, slicing any zombies in his way. He was followed by Slacume, who ran as fast as possible to keep the undead away from him. After Slacume, Orel fired his pistol on some zombies, killing a few. The sprint lasted only for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes in their minds. Once all of them had reached the castle wall, Diarmuid jumped out and began running as well. Now that the machine gun was not firing at him, Deasdùn made sure to hit at least one of the soldiers. He aimed at Diarmuid, centering on his chest. It would not make a difference, as the explosion would rip his body apart.

“Take that!” Deasdùn pulled the trigger.

The bullet curved around the roof and zoomed in on his target. While Diarmuid could hear the shot, he had no time to dodge. Upon impact, the bullet imploded with a large blast. Diarmuid fell over, grinding on the gravel. His clothes burned away, and his skin turned black. In those few seconds, it seemed that the man had fallen. It was until the moment that the body sprung back up after rolling that Deasdùn realized he was not dead. What should have been a splattered corpse ran alive and well. Diarmuid looked over his shoulder, where he saw Deasdùn looking down the barrel of his gun on the roof. At that moment, they saw eye to eye. Diarmuid grimaced with his burned beard and blackened skin so that the sniper hesitated. That moment of hesitation cost him the chance to fire again, allowing Diarmuid to run to safety.

“Come on, kids! We don’t have time! Head inside!”

“There’s a hole over there!” Orel pointed.

“Largaoth, is it ready yet?” Deasdùn asked.

“...Now.”

With his prayer finished, Largaoth began shining from under his robes. He joined his hands together tightly, and all he needed was to chant the name.

“...White Vanish.”

As Diarmuid stepped inside, he felt something ominous. He looked behind him, and a dense fog obscured the opening. Diarmuid tried, but he could not get through.

“What’s this?”

Though only mist appeared before him, there was a solid feeling of something in the way.

“The fog!” Slacume fell back. "It's here!"

“Looks like they cast a bound field.” Diarmuid knocked the air.

“...Oh, of course,” Slacume regained his composure.

“What is that?” Orel asked.

“It’s like a force field that only lets certain people in or out,” Slacume explained.

“They must have tried deploying it to keep everyone out.”

“What is the way out?” Isao looked around.

“When it’s deployed, the caster sets up rules for it. It looks like it won’t let us out. Not sure if it will let anyone in.” Slacume said.

“The little man’s right. If they don’t let us out, we need to take out the responding mage.”

“What’s wrong, Orel?” Slacume saw his worn-out face.

“I hope Norman and Andras are okay.”

“Well, at least they aren't here. I mean, they would be dead by now.”

“Thanks a lot.” Orel frowned.

On the roof, Deasdùn opened a window and jumped inside. He found himself in the attic, alone and not sure what had happened. He immediately contacted his fellow bishops.

“Eargaoth, four people managed to get inside the field.”

“I noticed as well. Did Largaoth set it up as instructed?”

“Seems so. I do not know if it allows anyone to leave.”

“Hmmm, that could be a problem. We cannot risk taking it down yet, but intruders are bad news.”

“Should we warn others and then take them out?”

“That seems to be the only option. Did they seem dangerous?”

“They did use a spell, yes, and one of them managed to survive my Trackershot.”

“I will order the puppets to go inside; you warn others. We cannot let them get near Vortigern or Largaoth.”

“Okay,” Deasdùn said. “I just need to get down from here.”