Vortigern made his way through the manor. His armor clanked from each step, and his cape dragged across the floor. There were two doors at the end of a long hallway, each twice the size of the others. Vortigern pushed the doors open without a problem and looked at what was inside. A great hall was full of chairs lined perfectly next to each other and a speaking booth at the end, yet empty without a single soul inside. Walking past the chairs in the red moonlight, Vortigern noticed a sound from behind the stage. A lone man was leaning against the wall like a fallen tree, drinking a bottle of sap wine. The man raised his head full of hair and slowly stood up, though his legs barely kept him up.

“Who are you?” Lionel slurred.

“Ard righ Vortigern. Feumaidh gur tusa an Diuc. (High king Vortigern. I suspect you are the duke.).”

“I can’t tell what you’re saying, but I sure heard something.” Lionel took a swig. “Vortigern. The nightmare. You come here, slaughter my people and invade my castle. And for what? It’s a bit late to try and reclaim your kingdom.”

“Nach tuigeadh tu. (You don't seem to understand.).”

“Albian, you speak it? Nevermind. I don’t need to hear your excuses.”

“Cath fhearr leam bruidhinn. (Battle is the best way to talk.).”

Vortigern raised his hand.“Cluinn. (Hear.).”

Before Lionel could resist, a wave of energy passed from ear to ear. It cleared the fog between the two, yet Lionel’s headache persisted.

“Hear my name! I am the king of twilight, Lord Vortigern!”

Vortigern unlocked his fluttering mantle. As it fell to the ground, the dark armor appeared from underneath. Clad in spiked plates, it reached from the tips of his feet to the base of his neck. It curled behind his ears and over his forehead like a wave. The scales formed a glistening thorny crown akin to a helmet. Vortigern gripped his spiked gauntlets tight and presented himself with the dignity of a noble.

“Descendant of Knight Bors, I challenge you.”

"Challenge me? What for?"

"Do you care?"

Lionel’s lips curled up and stretched from side to side. He finished his bottle, opened his suit, and curled up his sleeves.

“By the name of sir Lionel Elyan Claudin, I sure don't.”

“Do not be mistaken. This is not a battle.”

Vortigern struck without warning, blasting Lionel backstage. The impact raised a dust cloud as old equipment and wall crushed Lionel.

“This is a massacre.”

A piece of rubble flew just past his ear. Lionel exploded from underneath a grand pile of debris, smiling widely as ever.

“You have to be better than that! I’ve gotten used to punching recently!”

“And...” Lionel jumped.

Vortigern saw Lionel’s approach. He could as well dodge, but he barely even braced.

“Try a little harder!” Lionel struck.

Vortigern took the uppercut head-on. It barely scratched his chin, and he barely even nudged. Lionel felt the bones in his arm ache like hitting a brick wall.

“Damn, what are you made of?”

“I would ask that as well.” Vortigern brushed his chin. “I sense a blessing.”

“Figuring out the ace in my sleeve so early. You read me like an open book.”

“It does not take more than wit to understand. After all, you bear the sins of your forefathers.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You of all people should know!” Vortigern lunged.

Lionel tried to take the punch, yet he slipped to the end of the hall. The tremours Lionel felt all the way from his arms to the tips of his feet left him shaking.

“Was that a bit too hard?” Vortigern smirked, or that was until Lionel revealed his unshaken smile.

“No, I’m used to taking problems head-on.”

Lionel jumped. Vortigern thought it was to kick him but was mistaken. He looked up, only to see Lionel’s forehead smash against his. The laminated floor cracked in the shape of Vortigern’s feet. Lionel recoiled off and was happy to see Vortigern trembling in his steps.

“...What was that?” Vortigern felt a scratch on his forehead.

“Like four aces in a deck, I got more tricks up my sleeve.”

“It matters not. Whatever blessing you have is no match for me. You and your fairies are no match for me.”

“Don’t be hasty. I’ve barely even started.”

“Is that so? Perhaps I was not clear enough.”

Lionel found himself trapped by Vortigern. His hand was held tight by a dark gauntlet with a grip that pressed his very bones. The next thing he felt was an immense strike, like getting smashed by a sledgehammer. It pushed deep into his innards and crushed his ribs. Before Lionel could even scream from the pain, he was hit again. It was to his face, crushing the nose and cracking his skull and teeth. The pain radiated through his nerves with an intensity of thousand needles. Lionel was ready to fall, but Vortigern’s firm grip kept him standing. Over and over, Vortigern made sure to break every bone, tenderize every muscle, and crush every organ he could. When he would let go, Lionel would be nothing but a wobbling sack of flesh.

“I told you. This is no contest.”

Watching a man clinging to his life in front of him was nothing new to Vortigern. He would still dream of the days he sat on his high throne to look down at miserable people, asking to be forgiven or given aid.

“Please, my lord, forgive me!” The priest pleaded.

“Then tell me. Where is he?”

“We do not know! I swear! It is only a prophesy!”

“You are part of them, are you not? You bear the sign of White Flower on you.”

“Yes, but our people have not found him. Please, be considerate!”

“Silence! Do not tell your king how to act!” Vortigern slammed his fist.

The king thought for a moment, letting the silence judge the man.

“If you cannot find them yourself, I shall recruit you to my court. Surely you will find it with my funding.”

“That would be excellent, my lord, but I should remind you. It has taken our people hundreds of years, yet we still have not found him.”

“I must see him. Only he can save this kingdom.”

“Yes, we know his purpose. We will aid you, but there is a condition.”

“What dare you ask?”

“This child is very precious. We must raise him well. My lord, we only ask you to let us complete the prophesy as told.”

“As long as I can meet him, I swear as the king to fulfill your promise.”

“We thank you, great lord.”

“I shall grant you a gift. It will surely help you to find the prophetical boy.”

The memory faded away like a dream. Vortigern let go of Lionel, who leaned backward and fell flat on the ground like wet tissue.

“What is that?” Vortigern stepped back.

Lionel’s body glow with dim green light. Tiny sparks buzzed around him like a flock of flies. His body began repairing itself, slowly but steadily.

One of the fairies turned and looked at Vortigern with its small round eyes.

“Oh, it is only you.”

“You have returned, black dragon.” The light spoke with a high pitch.

Only a pair of small yet condemning eyes were visible from the small insect-winged creature.

“Call me what you want, fairy.”

The fairy took a close look at Vortigern.

“...What are you?”

Vortigern smiled.

“Oh, you cannot tell by appearance? I am Vortigern, King of Albion.”

“That is true, but something is not right. But then why are you here?” The fairy asked.

Vortigern fell silent. His smile was gone, replaced by a somber stare into the void that had become himself.

“So, even you do not know.”

On the basement floor, Orel, Isao, and Slacume had made their way through the maintenance tunnels.

“Which way do you think they are?” Orel asked.

“Normally, I’d say how would I know, but I think I’ve got an idea,” Slacume said. “There’s a ventilation room up ahead. I’ve never been there myself, but I’ve heard that it’s like a maze of pipes. A perfect hiding spot.”

“You know this building well, forest-dweller.”

“I work here. Well, I also like history.”

“One should not dwell in the past, but experience is the greatest teacher.”

“I don’t know. Stupid people will always make the same mistakes.”

“Ignorance is always the easiest way, but it is never the right choice. There are only two mistakes one can make along the road to truth; not going all the way and not starting.”

“Speaking from experience?” Slacume asked with a smug smile.

“It took me a while to realize."

“I think I see the door!” Orel yelled from a bit further.

“Wait up, Orel!” Slacume yelled.

At the end of the tunnel was a small metal door with a warning sign on it, but before Orel could reach it, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Orel stopped and hid around a corner. The steps seemed supple, carefree, even. Orel peeked and saw a slender figure making its way down the stairs.

“Orel, what are you doing?” Slacume asked.

“Hush!” Orel seemed anxious.

Slacume immediately stuck to the wall like a cockroach. Isao readied his blade.

The steps reached the floor. There they suddenly stopped. Then, a voice, but a small one, asked.

“Who’s there?”

Orel froze. His heart was pumping, and his hands shook too much to grip a coin from his pocket. Isao tightened his pose, protecting Slacume, yet Slacume walked past him. He passed even Orel. Slacume felt the need to check it. He walked out of the corner and watched the figure in the eyes.

“Mr.Park?” He asked.

In his loose-fitting and overly patched overalls walked an old eastern gentleman with his trusty mop and a lack of hair, apart from the two small brushes of a mustache.

“Oh, if it isn’t young Slacume!” Park smiled through his wrinkles.

“You know him?” Orel asked.

“He is the janitor here.”

“You mean a janitor?” Orel tried to correct it.

“No, no. It’s just me here.” Park said.

“Are you alright? Is your pay according to standards? Have you established a labor union?” Orel asked.

“Oh no, food and a roof on top are all I need.”

“W H A T ?”

“Orel, stop thinking. You are going to give yourself an aneurysm. No one knows his deal but Sir Lionel.”

Isao rested his naginata but did not put it away. “Are you not from Azuma?”

“Oh, a monk. “Park squinted his eyes. “Hmmm, Zipangu?”

“Yes. From the Raikou temple.”

“That name rings no bell to me. I left Hangug a long time ago.”

“But Mr.Park, what are you doing here?” Slacume asked.

“My shift just started. Or is my watch not working?”

“You start work in the middle of the night...” Orel hung on to the fact. “No, I mean, haven’t you noticed the invasion?”

“So all that noise and rumbling wasn’t the plumbing? Dear gods, I was worried.”

“Mr.Park. It is still dangerous here. You should hide.” Isao said.

“Really? Now that I think about it, who are these people, Slacume?”

“It’s a long story, don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so. But what were you doing here?”

“One of the invaders is probably in the boiler room,” Slacume explained. “Actually, could you lead us there?”

“Isn’t that too dangerous?” Orel asked.

“You don’t need to worry about me. If someone is messing with the pipes, I’ll take care of them myself.” Park thwacked his broom.

“Do you have the maintenance key?” Slacume asked.

“Boy, I have all the keys.” Park took out a ball of keys. “Now, which one is the right one.”

“We are in a hurry.” Isao reminded.

“I am going through them as fast as I can.” Park fiddled with the keychain like a raffle. “Maybe this one.”

Park inserted the metal key, yet the lock wouldn’t budge.

“Maybe it needs a bit more force.” Park turned the key.

There was a sharp snap. Park was holding a piece of the key in his hand while the rest of it got stuck inside the lock.

“Now I have done it. I need to note that down so I can remember to take it out.” Park took out his notebook and pen from one of the many pockets.

“Let me help.” Isao walked forward.

“Oh, do you have smaller hands?” Park asked.

Isao gripped the doorknob, and sparks began bursting from his arm. The metal turned red hot. A slight kick was all it took to open the door at that point. Some of the metal dripped to the ground like drops of water.

“What have you done? Now I need to replace the whole door!” Park yelled in anguish.

“So his electricity can do that too,” Slacume noted like a professor observing his experiment.

“Um, I wasn’t so good in physics class.” Orel scratched his head.

“Well, I wasn’t that good either, but I know that if you apply enough electricity to a metal, it will also convert that energy into heat.”

Isao stopped at the door. “There is something wrong.”

“What is it?” Orel asked.

“There is no fog on this door.”

“They are inviting us in,” Slacume said.

“Mr.Park, are you sure you would not rather stay behind?” Isao asked.

“I said I am fine.” Park felt patronized.

Isao sighed. “So it is true that Chaos is inherent in all compounded things.”

“I will go first since I know the layout.” Park walked past Isao.

The four entered the damp, cold room filled with rumbling and steaming pipes. Their vision was constantly disturbed by steam and flickering lamps, even with lights on. It was indeed a maze, and one wrong turn could be a dead-end or a steaming hot tube, ready to burn your skin. Thankfully, Park navigated through it like it was his own house, while others stayed vary of the danger.

Orel noticed something off with Isao. He seemed stiffer than usual and carried his blade out while keeping his distance from the lead.

“Are you nervous?” He asked.

“My mind is wavering. It cannot find peace here."

“Do you think this is a trap?”

“I do not dream of the future.” Isao shifted his sight. “This Mr.Park...I cannot stop gripping my Tomoe in his presence. My instincts are trying to warn me.”

Slacume walked near Park, who was a bit too calm and collected about the situation. He walked with his hands together around his back like walking through a park.

“Mr. Park.” Slacume poked him.

“Yes?”

“You aren’t wearing your gloves.”

The wrinkles on Park’s face stiffened, but only for a moment.

“Oh? I must have left them in my shed.” Park smiled.

Slacume didn’t inquire any further, but his questions were far from answered. Even if their meetings were few and far between, Slacume always remembered the beaten old leather gloves that Park wore all day long. It was suspicious that Park could have gone from his room to downstairs without any problems, as he claimed. Park was also one of the few people with the master key. The other keys belonged to the head of staff, Gotthold, the director of security, Ernstein, and Sir Lionel himself. With Ernstein on paid leave, and the others missing, Park was perhaps the only one with full access.

“Do you kids have an idea where they might be?” Park asked.

“Is there a low point here?” Slacume looked around.

“Well, the floor goes down where the backup generators are.”

“Then we need to go there.”

“It’s just around the corner from here.” Park walked.

A new sound emerged among the sound of liquids going and dripping through the pipes. Terrible groaning echoed from the darkness. Park stopped in his steps, and so did everyone else. Isao took a stance.

“They are here,” He said.

“You should not have come here,” Eargaoth emerged farther down the wide dark corridor.

Orel felt the man’s voice sounded familiar, but not sure from where. It was also hard to try guessing when the man was clad in white robes and a red dragon mask.

A horde of the undead crawled from everywhere, under the pipes, from several pathways, and generally emerging from the shadows. They had been dead for only a while, but their flesh and skin had already started to peel off like old wallpaper, and the rotten smell of corpses was foul and noxious.

“I knew this was a trap!” Slacume yelled while hiding behind Isao's robes.

“Get to safety, Mr.Park,” Orel walked toward him.

“So, these are the ones responsible for this.” Park rolled up his sleeves.

“Mr.Park?” Orel stopped.

“You there, the man in robes. Are you the one that caused all this?” Park pointed his bony finger.

“Hmm? And who are you?” Eargaoth asked.

“Answer the question!” Park stomped his feet.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Were you the ones that messed all the floors with all this blood?”

“What?” Though you couldn't tell it through the mask, Eargaoth was beyond perplexed.

“Those things are leaking fluid like crazy. And don’t get me started on how long it will take to clean it off.”

“What are you, a janitor?”

“No-” Park took a strange stance and drew breath.

Suddenly, he took off from his place with a long hop.

Instead of avoiding the zombies or slowing down, Park ran through them like small sticks. Park tripped them; struck them to the heads; and knocked them away as he ran straight toward Eargaoth. Meanwhile, Eargaoth could only watch as Park picked off his puppets like flowers. He destroyed them like chopping bamboo.

Eargaoth drew his knife, but it was too late. Park closed the distance in a blink of an eye. Eargaoth went for the jugular. Park flicked the blade away with his hand and hit Eargaoth in his chest. Eargaoth coughed and gasped for breath. His vision blurred. Eargaoth tried to regain his posture, but Park gave no time. He punched Eargaoth upward. The strike broke the mask into splinters that fell to the ground with Eargaoth.

“-I am the janitor.” Park's face wrinkled up.

A loud shot sparked from the end of the hallway.

“Eargaoth!” Deasdùn cocked his pistol.

Park noticed a sparkling bullet heading his way. Instead of dodging, he pulled Eargaoth up and blocked the explosion. It ripped the clothes like wet tissue, tore the flesh off bones, and burned the rest to a well-done steak. Eargaoth looked none the worse than his minions, though he seemed to pass on peacefully, unlike them.

“...What?” Deasdùn could not believe what he had done.

Park emerged unscathed from behind the charring body and tossed it aside. His eyes concentrated on Deasdùn. It took no time for him to realize his situation. As Park launched himself toward him, Deasdùn chambered another round.

Deasdùn had plenty of time to fire. The bullet traveled fast but not fast enough. Park had time to kick up a loose drain cover in the air. The round detonated on impact, leaving a cloud of crackling smoke. Park emerged from it, sliding from underneath. Deasdùn saw how close Park already was and reloaded immediately.

With a kick to the ground, Park rose to his feet and ran. Deasdùn fired. This time, Park was empty-handed, but that was all he needed. He took out a pair of bloody leather gloves from his back pocket and put them on. However, that took time. As the bullet came right in front of his nose, Park caught it with his hands. It detonated in his palms and expanded into a colorful fireball. Park used all his might to push back the immense force between his hands while it fought back like a raging bull. Finally, the fire gave in, and Park clapped his hands together to dust off all the ash.

Deasdùn was still for but a moment, and that was all it took for Park to kick the pistol out of his hands.

“What sort of mage are you?” Deasdùn asked in horror.

“You Albians are always so bent up with magic, so you don’t even realize it when it hits you on the head.” Park shook his head.

“Realize what?”

“There's more to strength than magic." Park knocked Deasdùn unconscious with a single swift kick.

“You can stay there for a while.”

“Mr. Park, are you alright?” Orel yelled.

“Oh, I am fine!” Park smiled.

As Orel was running toward him, Park could not help but open his eyes open like a pair of eggs.

“Stop, stay away !” He yelled.

The grotesque body of Eargaoth twitched ever so slightly. Orel noticed it a little late as the body raised itself on its knees. While Orel only saw back, Park had the full view of something horrific.

Eargaoth had stabbed himself to the heart, with the blade still sunk deep in his bare burned flesh. His white robes were mostly blown away, while some charred parts remained burned onto his skin.

Largaoth felt a cold sweat run down his back. “...Oh, brother. What has become of you?”

“We must carry on.” Eargaoth bled from every orifice where there still was flesh left to bleed.“I carry an oath. If lord Vortigern can truly save us from this cursed blood, I won’t stop until I am drained to the last drop!”

With lightning speed, Isao cut off Eargaoth’s head. Blood burst out of the neck wound while the head tumbled on the floor like a bowling ball. As Isao lowered his gaze upon his kill, the head stared back at him.

“O’ cursed blood of mine-” Eargaoth began chanting.

The splattered blood coagulated into floating trails that connected back to the separated head. Isao cut the blood, but it resumed its flow immediately.

“Become of use once more. My veins are strings, my heart a ball of yarn.”

Isao cut, slashed, and swept down the body from limb to limb until it reminded more of what you would find on a butcher shop floor. Yet, it only made more of the blood emerge from all wounds. The strings of blood sewed the body back together like a patched piece of clothing.

“Sow and weave this body, a broken doll, until all strings snap. Let this body reap as a Blood Marionette.” Eargaoth finished the chant.

A burst of malice and a threatening aura emanated from the body. Isao instinctively backed away. The face knit itself a new skin, though a bit off from how it was. His eyes filled with blood and grew two dark dots in the middle.

Eargaoth looked at Park with a blank face as he drew the dagger from his heart. What was before a small curved blade came out as a long, bloody sword with veins pulsing on the surface.

“Forefathers, bear witness to your legacy, for I am Rhein Ostwind, the soul weaver!”

For once, Park hesitated in his moves.

“You, monk!” Park called out. “You are a better match for that!”

“I won’t let you get away!” Eargaoth sprung to action.

However, his bloodied blade could not reach Park. Isao slashed Eargaoth’s legs and blocked the way.

“You dare to stand in my way?” Eargaoth stood back up.

“I will not let you disturb any more souls,” Isao took a stance. “I will hold him back, so you take care of the others!”

“I wish you luck!” Park ran through the door.

“You will die here,” Eargaoth warned.

“You should have died already,” Isao said.

Slacume and Orel backed away, seeing that the situation was way beyond them.

“You two, get away from here! We will handle this!” Isao yelled.

“Let’s go, Orel!” Slacume was more than eager to run as fast as he could.

“Stay safe!” Orel yelled while trying to catch up with Slacume.