With almost superhuman reaction speed, she reached for the gun she kept concealed at her side and aimed at the air next to her. Nothing. Just the same dusty, undisturbed tombs that surrounded her. A trick of the light? She looked around cautiously, before peeking her head out the door. It was the same eerie stillness as when she entered, if not worse by the situation being exacerbated in her head. The grip on her gun tightened. For a second there, she had felt a malevolent gaze upon her. She shook away the image of the faceless man she thought she saw for just a split second. A faded memory of a being she thought she remembered seeing in her dreams, with a void where his smile would be. A gaping blackness for a visage that should be impossible, yet somehow is. For the first time since Alma had traveled down into the crypt, she had felt a vague sense of fear.

“I'm seeing things. It's the usual. Nothing to be afraid of, naturally. Those fucking clowns can't hurt me.” Alma looked around while waving her gun, talking to no one in particular but the musty air of the dead. “No offense to you ladies, but this place has officially creeped me out. I think I've paid enough respects to the empty box with my sister's name stamped on it. I should get going. I—” The gunwoman slammed into something soft yet firm, causing her to fall back on her butt, her pistol clattering to the floor.

“Whoa! Bloody watch where you're going, mate. You might be small, but I've seen those muscles on ya.” Hwalín was standing over the fallen Alma, hand outstretched in assistance. Behind her, the ghostly pale face of Qu'l-Nia was peering over her shoulder.

Alma groaned in pain as she rubbed her behind, visibly confused by the presence of her companions. “Hwal? Q? How did you two get down here?” She took the Hecatian's hand, struggling to get herself up. “You're not allowed down here! How on Sarracas did you get past Master Tiberius?!” The ex-soldier yelled in her quietest voice.

“Us?!” Hwalín seemed surprised. “Weren't you the one that called for us? We were waiting patiently outside when all of a sudden, one of your portals opened up in front of us. Course, Nia tried to stop me but I lept in, not wanting to feel left out like last time—”

“Wait, what? A portal? Did I do that? I don't remember wanting to make any sort of portal. Come on now, this was supposed to be a private moment between sisters.” Alma scowled. The interruption had annoyed her, yet looking back at Zula’s supposed tomb caused her expression to soften. “I was done here anyway. Where exactly is that portal you mentioned? Maybe we can use it to hop out of here.”

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“I am afraid that option is lost to us,” stated Qu’l-Nia. “The ingress you apparently conjured for us vanished the moment we stepped through.”

“No way! You can’t be seen leaving here with me! I can only imagine Master Tiberius striking you both down the second we cross that threshold!”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle a single guard,” boasted the red elf.

Alma tried not to let Hwalín’s arrogance get to her.

“This is sacred ground,” Qu-l-Nia said softly. “It would be rude of us to spill any sort of blood here, where the bodies of the deceased have come to rest. Alma is correct. We must find another way.”

“But how?” asked Alma. “You gonna sing us a way out of here like you did back on that desert planet?”

“Alma, I thought the answer would be quite obvious. You will simply make us another portal out of here.”

“You think I’m ready…? What if I accidently drop you in the middle of the ocean.”

“No worries, Alm. If you do that, I will personally come back and kick your ass. How’s that for incentive?”

Alma chuckled nervously. “I dunno. You’re saying I just did this a few minutes ago. I guess it’s now or never on trying to control it.”

“Just use the same process you used before. Concentrate. Focus your emotions and envision the destination you would like to open up to.”

Alma took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In her mind, she pictured the vast, dreary cemetery above them. The ground outside that was filled with the countless bodies of Malachias’s citizens. The dozens and dozens of departed priestesses laid to rest in the various rooms surrounding them. She hadn’t stopped to consider how they had all died. What kind of fate had befallen them to snip the living thread of fate binding them to life. Old age? Disease? War? Something worse? Alma could feel their sorrow. They had all been someone’s loved one, in some form or another. Sisters, mothers, wives, girlfriends, daughters… They had all lived. Just like Zulema. The dead whisper. Voices fill her surroundings. A cacophony that couldn’t possibly be coming from the corpses around her. The sudden urge to leave had dominated her. Fear now filled her brain, howling at her to run away. Leave this holy place. She had brought aberrations from the outside that did not belong. Her sin was heavy. If she could only get rid of them. Then maybe my sister could forgive me…!

“Alma?”

The ex-soldier opened her eyes. She hadn’t realized just how tightly she had been squeezing them shut until the vertigo hit. The voice that called out to her had sounded like her sister’s, and yet…

“Oi! You alright there, mate? Think you got a little in your own head there.”

“Hwal?” Alma rubbed her eyes with her palms. “Yeah. I’m alright. Sorry. My mind wandered a bit there.”

“Well, whatever you did seemed to work. Look!” Hwalín pointed a distortion spinning silently in the air. A distorted vision of the graveyard above them could be seen through the apex.

Alma smiled painfully.