The red moon swooned over lake Elaine that night, turning the silver water into bleeding blood. The guards watched over the castle in the lavish courtyard. Weapons in their arms, they monitored the streetlamp-lit road leading up to the castle hill. They were expecting the Major to arrive, but would not allow anyone else inside. Still, they could see the news vans waiting in the distance for Lionel to do his speech. Some reporters were already arrested, trying to sneak in with the most absurd means.

“Is that a bird?” One asked, leaning against a pillar around the fountain.

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

While the other needed glasses for his poor sight, the other guard could not see that well either in the dark red moonlight.

“Maybe they’re chimney long legs?” He 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. A dreadful voice invaded his mind.

"Our people, this is the brotherhood of white. We are speaking to you all with the power granted by our lord. Lord Vortigern has awoken and is here to build a new land for us from the ashes of this damned forest. Come with us and you will be free from the chains of oppression and this vile curse. Raise your rings, for you no longer need to be ashamed. We shall build a new tomorrow and we shall start it with the occupation of the Abhean castle. A new time is coming and we are asking for you to become a part of it."

“I mean, I don’t know any other big birds around here.” The guard 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?” He asked.

“W-What?” The other muttered.

“Don’t say you didn’t hear me-”

The other guard looked at his hand and saw his finger glowing with red light. With it, he silently raised his hand above his head.

Some other soldiers dropped their weapons as well. Some smiled, some stared emptily, and some curled into a ball. Only those bearing the mark of a telepath acted strange.

“What the hell is going on?” The first guard asked.

The guard looked up again, but now it was too late. Five figures flew closer and closer, heading straight to the castle.

“We got intruders coming from the sky!” He yelled.

The others looked, or at least the sane ones took their weapons and pointed above.

“Hurry! Contact the other squads!”

“It’s too late.” The glass-wearing guard dropped to his knees.

“What are you on about? Send the message! I don’t have a radio on me! We need to prepare to fire-"

The guard was shot. Only the other remained with a warm smile and a smoking gun.

Inside, Jessie heard the gunfire coming from outside. Even though the building was large, the sounds echoed inside through air vents and open windows.

“Did you hear something?” Lionel asked.

“I didn't give orders to open fire. Is there any report coming in?” She turned to the telepath, Riviera.

“No, there are none.” He answered, hiding his smile.

“Something is wrong. I need to radio them."

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

"Your highness, I would suggest you stay here." Jessie opposed. "Besides, are you even in the condition to deliver a speech?"

"Let me assure you, young lass," Lionel hiccuped. "No amount of bullets or whiskey can make me fall."

“If you are that sure...” Jessie was ready to take his hands if he were to fall. "We should send some guards with you, just in case."

“Kiku, is the hall prepared already?” Lionel asked.

“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?” Jessie asked.

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

“I would love to have your commitment.” Jessie shook her head.

“Who does not love an endearing challenge?” Gotthold smiled with the faintest sign of joy.

Meanwhile, Vortigern landed and walked forward at the gates, shortly followed by his quiet disciplines.

“They still live in these castles? The culture is quite stagnant here.” Vortigern sneered at the vain statues and garnishing.

“Stop right there!” A soldier screamed.

A group of soldiers gathered near the courtyard’s center, aiming their weapons. They had barely been able to handle the chaos, though it left them slightly fewer in numbers.

“What a bizarre weapon.” 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 turned toward his lord. “Lord, he is asking you 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!” The soldier screamed.

“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 his face told him everything. He could tell which one of them was going mad.

Upon that temptation, the soldier opened fire. Before Vortigern could raise his slim eyebrows, the bullet had traveled the distance and neared the center of his forehead. The other soldiers were still in shock and coming to terms with having killed their own members, thus they felt nothing. The action might have not made them feel anything, but the sight before them certainly did. Through their sight the soldiers saw pitch-black scales growing out of the brow of Vortigern, jamming the bullet between them.

“I see. A machine that shoots 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 untouched, without any sign of injury. The soldiers were in disbelief. The feeling of utter hopelessness sank into their hearts.

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

“Still, these things-”

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 and lifted up dust from the ground. A moment later, the magazine was empty, and the gun was steaming, yet no bullet had even reached Vortigern.

The menacing figure smiled upon them “-They are simply too slow.”

His hands were clad in dark scales with long, sharp nails. The dark gauntlets, scaly and glad in spikes, were macabre yet strangely aesthetic. Their power was as self-evident as Vortigern himself, which only struck fear into his enemies.

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 as the hand gushed blood like a broken garden hose.

“'It seems you can disable these men just as archers before.” 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.” He walked past the defeated soldiers.

They didn’t dare to move, or they felt their necks would fall off.

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

Vortigern glanced at the frightened soldiers. “Suit yourself. I have no use for the weak-willed.”

“As you wish.” Deasdùn bowed his head.

Vortigern disappeared behind two large doors that he had no problem opening, leaving his subjects to their own. It was part of their, or rather Vortigern's plan. While he would find the duke, they would secure the castle. Their first obstacle was before them, and the four had already spread out on the massive front yard in preparation.

“Those are probably the terrorists.” A guard whispered behind an MSV.

“What should we do? We don’t stand a chance!” Another one answered, hugging the castle wall.

“We need to hold out.” He answered.

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

“Let them be court wizards of great sages. We're trained for this.”

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

A sparkling bullet swirled from the barrel through the splashing water of the central fountain against the door of the MSV. The explosion left only a limb body and a bent door.

“They are armed!” The surviving guard backed off.

He hid around the castle wall. It provided good cover for his position.

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

With the flick of the trigger, another bullet flew out like a firework. The soldier squeezed against the wall just to be sure. Yet, as the bullet was about to pass him, it let out a loud bang like a firecracker. It spun in the air until it turned around the right way and exploded again, painting the wall red. The bishop kept firing, taking out anyone that wasn’t hiding under reinforced concrete. As long as he had ammo and magic to spare, there would be no hiding from him.

“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 Tuatcnoc. Even though the soldier did not see it, a broad smile made Tuatcnoc’s teeth shine under the mask and his bright eyes sparkle. Yet, he still put his hands above his head as if to surrender.

As their guard was down, Tuatcnoc saw his chance.

"Wait, he's using a Nazard!" One of the guards noticed the shine in his eyes.

It was too late. The ground gave away under the soldiers’ feet, sinking them into the muddy ground. As they tried to pull one foot out, the other sunk further. They threw away their weapons to try and drag themselves out, but the edge would always melt away.

“A transmutation Nazar?” One of the soldiers thought during their desperate attempts to survive.

“Wow, smart boy! You get ten points! But it's too bad, saving you would cost you eleven.” Tuatcnoc hopped away.

Eargaoth watched as the last bits of the soldiers’ heads sunk underneath the earth. The fear in their eyes fell into the eternal darkness of the underground. The mud bubbled with their breaths for a while but not too long.

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

“What? Sure.” Tuatcnoc pushed the bodies back to the surface.

“Watching your mafic is truly terrific,” Eargaoth closed their eyes.

“Says you. Are you done there, Dùn?” Tuatchnoc yelled.

“In a moment!” Deasdùn yelled back under gunfire.

“Cnoc, you and Largaoth should head inside,” Eargaoth proposed. “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 him.

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 body twitched, rising as if being pulled up by strings. Its arms swayed from side to side, and its head jerked up and down. Even though the legs wobbled like a pair of wet noodles, the body kept its composure. It was no longer a man, but a hunk of flesh following Eargaoth's every command. Though it did not speak, the man groaned after it coughed all the dirt out of its pale mouth.

“Your magic is as morbid as I have heard.” Deasdùn returned. "Perhaps your family should be renamed to 'Zombieman'."

Eargaoth had nothing to say about the comment and merely watched his upper devour his previous comrades.

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

“Think about it. Soon we will have the freedom to lay down these spells."

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

“I wouldn't mind keeping Trackershot for myself, but I would want my son to choose for himself."

“Dùn.” Eargaoth gazed at the moon.

“Yes?”

“Nevermind. It was a foolish question.”

“I do not mind foolish questions.” Deasdùn smiled.

Again, Eargaoth sank into his thoughts without saying a word.

“...We need more puppets. I will go and use the ones you shot.” He walked off.

“Alright. I will find a good lookout spot. I will tell you if anything happens.”

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

“Alright. Just take care of yourself.”

Inside the castle, Jessie tried the radio, but could not get anyone to respond.

“What is going on? Riviera, are there really no reports?”

“No, ma’am. None at all.” Riviera shook his head.

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

“I will call security.” Gotthold took out her phone. It rang for far too long for her liking. “Come on, answer me.” She tapped her foot. “It picked up.”

“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?” Gotthold squinted her eyes.

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

“What do you want from us?”

“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.” Tuatcnoc snickered. "Well, not that many."

“Who is this Lord of yours?”

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

Gotthold’s eyes scrolled to the door. 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 held their fingers on the trigger. The door swung open. Someone stumbled in.

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

It was a man wearing a butler uniform, though something was off about him. The man was pale 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 the bitemark on him that still bled on the carpet.

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

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

“Kiku, please help me. I need to get back home."

Gotthold watched as Zebro's veins pumped and bulged until his eyes burst with blood. His nails fell off, along with his hair and teeth. Whatever the grotesque bleeding mass he had become, Zebro kept begging.

“Please, Kiku." He said with blood dripping from his mouth.

Zebro looked up to find hope, yet what he saw was despair. Gotthold had nothing to give to him. Not an ounce of sympathy, or perhaps only one thing.

“Shoot him.” Gotthold blinked.

“Are you sure?” Jessie asked.

“That thing is no longer human."

“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.

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 down.

“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 you see!” Jessie ordered. "There's one in the corner right over there!"

“I will personally see that your head will mount the highest pike on this building.” Gotthold grimaced at the camera just before Jessie shot it.

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

He looked at the cameras and sent a message. "Ergie, your puppets seem to really go at it infecting the staff. Also, the duke isn't in his office.”

“So you followed the puppet? Keep looking from the cameras.”

“There's just too many of them. Feels like a waste trying to find this place.” 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?”

“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.” Tuatcnoc smiled.

“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 fight the world, 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.” Tuatcnoc rolled his eyes. “Take care, Ergie.”

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

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.” James noticed.

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.” James persisted.

“Could you give any insight on the situation?” The woman asked, sneakily bringing up her microphone.

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.” James pulled up the window.

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

“Something went down here,” Diarmuid said the obvious.

“Where are the guards?”

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 took hold of his glasses.

“A missile?” Diarmuid said.

“Whatever it was, it destroyed the engine." James tried the gas. "Everybody, out!”

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

A horde of nefarious zombies, once their comrades in arms, 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. 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,” Diarmuid noted.

Another shot rang, splintering the front window. James could barely see through it anymore.

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

“Bulletproof glass.” Deasdùn reloaded his pistol. “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!" Diarmuid announced. “What should we do, major?”

James thought for a moment, calmly as ever.

“Get the dragon.” He snapped his fingers.

“Roger that.” Diarmuid shuffled to the back.

“Weird, I was sure they would have done something,” Deasdùn observed.

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 rotating sound of the barrel made Deasdùn's hurt jump from his chest and himself jump away.

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 whether that target was armored or in cover. It made rubble of anything in the short time it took to empty a full belt-fed 600-round belt 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!” James punched his leg.

“Sorry, I went a bit overboard." Diarmuid blushed.

“Get inside.” James tugged him.

“Alright.” Cumhaill went down and shut the hatch.

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

“...Soon.” He answered,

“Hurry up! These people seem dangerous. We cannot let them in."

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.

“They got a freaking machine gun. Give me a moment to relocate.”

“Hurry, the puppets cannot hold without support.”

“What should we do now? The enemy has retreated.” Diarmuid asked.

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

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

“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.” James sighed.

“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?" James turned his attention to Isao.

“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. My friend can be inside there."

"Can you shoot?" James asked.

"Well, yes." Orel thought about his coins.

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

"Um, thanks, but I have magic." Orel had never felt a pistol in his hands. "You can have it, Slacume." He pushed it to him.

"Me? Well, actually I could use it." Slacume took it.

"Whichever way fits you." James sighed.

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

“You do not need encouragement, Cumhaill.”

"Aw." Diarmuid frowned.

“Alright, listen up! There is an enemy 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. Yet, it did not bother him but gave a smile to his face.

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

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

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

“Well?” James asked.

"Firstly, I need you to open the hatch again."

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. With them out of the way, there were only a few of them scattered around.

“What the hell was that? Was that a mage?” He asked.

Before Deasdùn could begin bordering his question, Diarmuid peeked from the open hatch and fired upon him. While taking cover, Deasdùn saw two groups leading out of the vehicle. A group of soldiers ran down the hill while a jumble of people headed toward the castle. He was more worried about those that were rapidly advancing yet he couldn't get a clear shot in a hail of bullets.

Isao led the group, slicing any zombies in his way. He was followed by Slacume, who took potshots at them. Finally was Orel, who could finally get to use Pierce in action, though only for a few zombies. His fist would sink into the zombie, and shortly behind would come the wave of mana, blasting the thing away.

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 down on its target. Diarmuid 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 ashen black. It seemed that the man had fallen. That was until the body sprung back up after a quick roll. What should have been a splattered corpse ran alive and well. Diarmuid looked over his shoulder to Deasdùn on the roof. At that moment, they saw eye to eye. Diarmuid grimaced with his burned beard and the sight made Deasdùn falter. That moment of hesitation cost him his next shot as Diarmuid got to the wall.

“Come on, kids! We don’t have time! Head inside!” Diarmuid waved his hand.

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

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

“...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.

“...Fog Gate.”

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

“What’s this?” He could push his arm through it.

“The fog!” Slacume stepped back.

“Looks like they cast a bound field,” Diarmuid said. "Most likely the same kind we saw in the town."

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

“What is it?” 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,” Diarmuid noted.

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

“When it’s deployed, the caster sets up rules for it. They probably want us out, which is why he could go through. Not sure if it will let anyone in.” Slacume said.

“The little man’s right. You can get out if you want, but I don't think you would be any safer out there." Diarmuid explained.

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

“I hope Norman and Andras are okay.”

“Well, maybe they aren't here after all. I mean, things seem a bit grim here.”

“Thanks a lot.” Orel almost felt good for such bad advice.

On the roof, Deasdùn opened a window and jumped inside. He found himself in the dusty attic where the staff would put away extra furniture and seasonal decorations.

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

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

“Seems so, but I have a feeling they are not going to back off."

“Hmmm, that could be a problem. We cannot risk taking the field down yet.”

“We just have to 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 watch the entrance. You warn others. We cannot let them get near Vortigern or Largaoth.”

"Agreed. For our people." Deasdùn pumped his chest.

"For our people." Eargaoth nodded.