Marcus tumbled shoulder over shoulder as he slid to a stop, hurled by an invisible force. The world spun violently.

  "Who are you?" A masculine voice called out from below.

  "Here to evict trespassers." Arminius shouted, firing his pistol.

  Layne fired his tonoascia and he stumbled backwards. "Whoa it's got a kick!"

  Marcus opened his eyes and coughed; the numbing force having entirely vanished from the area. The strength in his arms and legs returned rapidly and he pushed himself to his feet. He was thrown back over a dozen paces from Arminius and Layne.

  The two were standing upon a raised platform. In a gradual octagonal pit was a huge translucent cylinder with a black crystal within.

  Arminius had taken out another soldier wearing a white bull tabard. Layne also hit his mark, another warrior in the same kind of uniform.

  Another four, two rushing Layne on the right, two charging Arminius down on the left, emerged from the depths of the pit with swords drawn.

  Marcus scrambled to his feet, having gotten his strength back. He took aim while charging forth and fired, taking out one of the two bearing down on Layne.

  The mechanic flipped his weapon over and swung from overhead with the axe side. The infantryman raised his sword to deflect the attack. But it was no use, the Corinthium blade cleaved through the iron sword and continued into the soldier's chest, a fountain of blood bursting from the strike.

  Before Marcus or Layne could turn to help Arminius, he had dispatched the two assaulting him. The first was downed with a feint by Arminius, striking his foe from below. The second landed a glancing blow on the Myrmidon's pauldron and was quickly downed with a counter strike to the chest.

  The three rallied together and found the room otherwise empty.

  "Which one was the technomage?" Layne looked down at the four then reloaded his weapon.

  Arminius started to reload his pistol. "None of them, I'm afraid."

  "How do you know?" Marcus blinked and reloaded.

  "Technomages are a bit craftier than someone who would just hurl themselves at an armored adversary." Arminius finished loading his weapon and then holstered his pistol.

  Marcus looked up to where the red-haired one was floating before to find two girls suspended by their waists by rope next to the encased black shard in the center of the pit. Both were blindfolded and gagged with cloth. The other was the blonde dragon rider, Ishild.

  Ishild was not as pacified as the red-haired girl. She writhed and kicked her legs, thrashing and hurling stifled insults. As she kicked and groused, she swayed, gaining momentum.

  Arminius looked up at the two, each suspended on either side of the cylinder. He stared at the red-haired girl, then looked at Ishild and sighed. "I really had hoped that this was going to be a good day." He walked over to the railing that the red-haired girl was tethered to and let her down. "Help her." Arminius motioned to Ishild.

  Layne rushed over to the other set of ropes and eased Ishild down.

  Marcus descended into the pit and caught the red-haired girl as she was lowered to the ground, then he placed her gently on her feet. He reached up and untied the cloth blindfold. As it slid down, the panic in her eyes turned to relief. He ungagged her and pulled away the rope that bound her arms.

  "I thought you were him coming back." The red-haired girl spoke softly; she clutched her hands against her chest.

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  Marcus blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

  Layne descended and helped Ishild after untethering and lowering her to the ground, removing the blindfold first, then ungagging her. But the moment the cloth was removed from her mouth, she let out a bloody war cry and sank her teeth into his arm.

  "Ow, ow, ow, I'm trying to help you! I'm trying to help you!" Layne writhed, desperately wagging his arm to dislodge Ishild.

  "Your presence." The red-haired girl kept her timid tone. She clasped her hands tighter. "Is much like his, an aura that oppresses even the most fervent of observers."

  Marcus scratched his head. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

  The red-haired girl cocked her head and her brow dipped for a moment. The grip on her clasped hands loosened.

  "I'll kill every last one 'o ya!" Ishild shouted through teeth clenched on Layne's arm.

  He flailed his limb, but she persisted, latched on like a rabid dog, her arms still bound by rope behind her body.

  "Surely you heard my pleas?" The red-haired girl blinked.

  Marcus shook his head. "Didn't hear a thing."

  The red-haired girl lowered her hands. "How did you know we were here then?"

  Marcus pointed at Ishild. "Her little dragon buddy brought us here."

  Ishild immediately loosened her grip on Layne's arm and landed on her feet, skipping to a stop. "Radaria? He lives?"

  Marcus nodded. "Arminius patched him up. Little guy is a bit worse for wear, but I think he'll live."

  The red-haired girl gasped and spun to face the Myrmidon. "Lord-Marshall Arminius."

  The Myrmidon glanced to Marcus and Layne with pursed lips before nodding with a bashful smirk to the red-haired girl. "I'm quite surprised you remember me as such. An interim entitlement during a period of strife for dear Etrusca."

  Marcus shifted on his feet, suddenly bemused by Arminius's accolades. Layne, rubbing his arm and wincing, looked at Marcus with a cocked eyebrow before turning his attention to the Myrmidon, suspicion in his eyes.

  "How could I forget one of my father's only true allies?" The red-haired girl shook her head.

  Ishild leaped and pulled her legs to her chest, then swept the rope under her feet to get her arms in front of her body. Then she started fumbling to free herself. Layne stepped over to help, but she swatted his hands away. "Don’t touch."

  The mechanic retreated.

  "It might be a good idea to reminisce when we're back on the road." Marcus piped up. "We still need to figure out how to escape."

  Arminius nodded. "Yes, we need to get you to safety, princess." He towered over the red-haired girl, giving her a reassuring nod.

  Marcus cocked an eyebrow. The girl didn't look like royalty. She was wearing the same brown and black leather outfit as Ishild. In fact, she also had the same green hood, but it was down and folded into her collar.

  The princess turned to Marcus. "Please forgive me. I lost my bearing, forgetting we were in danger." She reached and scooped up his right hand.

  As soon as they touched, a bolt of lightning burst forth from the pure black crystal within the cylinder and struck both the princess and Marcus.

  His vision flashed white, but the blindness quickly subsided. Startled, he readied his weapon. But he came to realize he no longer was holding anything.

  A nasally, shrill voice called out from afar. "Kill it already, useless thing."

  Marcus found himself standing in a room of stone bricks. Fire from torches flickered in the distance but their light didn't reach far. The room was lined with a veil of darkness.

  A familiar voice responded. The black cloaked man from the barbarian camp. "You'll do no such thing."

  The nasally voice hissed. "Why not? It's unclean, broken."

  "Your little experiments failed. They will not bring her return." The black cloaked man spoke.

  The darkness veil began to fade. In the center of the room a bed. In the bed, a woman chained.

  A hand clasping Marcus's arm startled him. The princess latched onto him.

  "Why are we in this place?" She whispered, voice trembling. "A vile place of unending torment."

  When Marcus turned to look at the princess, he noticed she was the only one who didn't have a strange layer of brown muting the color of her presence. He came to realize this was a dream, not unlike the one he had back in the forest after retrieving the Firestorm.

  "Stay close to me." Marcus hushed out.

  He advanced into the darkness, toward the bed. The moment he stepped into the veil of shadow, it retreated. More of the room was revealed with each step.

  At the foot of the bed was a gnarled and twisted crone. She held a bent crook, with a jutting chin and mangled, yellow teeth. "That remains to be seen. Those I've produced are by far superior. This thing, created with archaic methods. Worthless."

  The black cloaked man stood next to her, staring at the woman chained to the bed. "The Oracle of the West has already spoken what is to come. Your efforts were fruitless."

  The crone cackled. "And you believe that charlatan? Pah! I wouldn't have taken you for such a gullible fool."

  "My only blunder was placing any amount of faith in you." The black cloaked man spoke. "If this child dies..." He turned to walk away. "There are many things worse than death. And I will exact all of them upon you." A cacophony of crows filled the room and his form disappeared before silence swept in once more.

  The crone shuddered and recoiled. Then she turned to where the man in black once stood and hissed.

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