The hard heels of Sena. Hendrix's shoes clanked down on the stone floors of South hall. She quickly pa.s.sed the torches mounted to the walls in a fierce, felicitous romp. "Just this way, dear!" she cheerfully beckoned the woman following close behind her. "He'll be so elated to see you." She entered the Main hall that curved around the entire twelfth floor, and struck the door marked #23 with a rhythm that expressed in full effect her glee. Walker answered the door, much to her disgust. "Why are you here, yet again?" her vile tone didn't set well with him.

"I could ask you the same question," he shot a steely glare at her, "but I won't out of respect for Corinth."

"Well, it's good to know that many ministrants have my son's best interest at heart."

Walker's mouth hung open wide. He couldn't believe the sight. So much so, that he slid from between the door, out into the halls, and gently closed it behind him without alerting Corinth. "What is this I see with my very own eyes!" he exclaimed. "Julia, how! By what magik?" he could barely speak. Out of breath from the shock of seeing his old friend and old flame.

Julia extended her hand, now standing next to an unusually bright-hearted Sena. Hendrix. She was wrapped in a scarf that hid most of her appearance, but Walker knew who she was even through the garbs. Even if she hadn't spoken, her appearance would have been obvious to him. "It's so nice to meet you," she said in earnest.

Walker's expression collapsed. He was horrified that she didn't remember him. How could she not? They went to school together. She chose Criston over him. Several times, in fact. She told him, at the tender age of sixteen, that the athletic boys were more her style. Though she'd love to continue being his friend. She actually followed through, and he thought they were truly friends. Sadly, he understood that it apparently was never the case. He took her hand into his, and shook. Staring bewilderedly into her green eyes.

Walker always wanted to get to know Criston, so that he could make sure that Julia was in good hands. He did get that chance, when he met their son, but he and Criston didn't start off on the best of terms. True, but Walker trusted Corinth's judgment still. Corinth obviously believed in his parent's relationship. Walker figured there was no reason to interfere with something so pure. Though he wanted to, very much so, now that Julia was standing right in front of him. "It's wonderful seeing you too, dear," he sullenly moved away from the door, traveling down the Main hall toward Oeste Walk. He had nothing more to say to Corinth Gambit or his mother, Julia. He needed time to process the hurtful throwing away of his longstanding affections for Julia.

Sena. Hendrix bid Julia to go in alone and reunite with her boy. She did it predominantly because she needed a word with the school's head librarian. She walked briskly up behind him, though he heard her heels, he didn't bother to stop.

Both of them stood stiffly, now hovering over the Diamond Atrium, as the skywalk slid across on its track. They swiftly glided from one building to another. As the coils of the machine rotated, pulling them along, neither needed to move their own legs any longer. Still, she stepped out in front of the bibliophile, and used her striking blue eyes to peer into his muddy brown gaze.

She then turned her stare from him, looking down at the students and staff moving about the atrium below. "A beautiful sight, isn't it?" He didn't respond, nor did he look down. "I helped build this, for future generations. For today's generation even more so. I won't let you destroy it with your ill-advised bouts on school grounds, Walker!" She quickly turned up to look at him again. He wasn't the least bit fazed by her opinion of his decision making process.

"I don't destroy, I endure. Something a woman like you will never know anything of. You have a lot of self-examination to do, don't you, Silvia?" His smooth tight skin and deft perceiving eyes spoke volumes for the secret knowledge he possessed about everyone around him.

"I entrusted to you to perform a simple task, and yet you poisoned my grandson, and nearly got him killed." Her eyes were lit with a dark rage. Walker knew this rage was misplaced.

"Wait!" he was perplexed by her statement. "I did no such thing. I figured you knew that by now."

"Knew what?" she shouted to high heaven. "You won't let anyone in on your little schemes. How am I to trust any of your actions as genuine?"

"The fruits I feed him, yes, they were of the tree of deceit." Her expression stiffened, but his softened. "But they were to guide Corinth away from the temple. I tried with all my knowledge to keep him from overindulging those thoughts planted in his mind by Sebastian's thugs. I failed, but I stalled as long as I could." His pained expression revealed to her the inter-workings of his mind. She very well knew he wasn't a good liar. "You're the one who attempted to confiscate the tracker I gave the boy. Had you done that, Sebastian would have ended his life for sure!" Walker was hurt. He tried to lift the guilt from his mind, and toss it into hers.

"Why?" she said intently while grabbing his shoulders. "Why couldn't you have told me any of this? If I had known, Walker, just imagine the difference in the outcome."

He straightened up, pulling away from her grasp. "Well, I'm quite satisfied with the outcome, despite your attempts to ruin it all."

She was well aware of his spiteful side too. She took it on the chin as the skywalk deposited them on the twelfth floor of Concordia Nova dorm building. "Whatever helps cancel out those ever haunting dreams you must still have every night, dear boy." Hum, her chin mustn't have been st.u.r.dy enough to handle it after all.

The gloves were off. They could have been great allies to one another, but with one subtle gesture, she wiped that possibility clear off his radar, for now at least. He virtually sprinted over to her, viciously hopping the four or five feet she was from him. Frightening her enough that she put her hands up in defense of herself. Walker chuckled at this.

"Do you really think I'd strike you?" He knew she responded on reflex alone. She didn't think he would do something so disgusting anyhow. Still, he pushed his face so close to hers that she felt the warmth of his breath on her nose. "I just need you to know that my childhood is not something you'll ever use against me again. I'm no longer a student of yours, Silvia. I'm as much a part of this inst.i.tution as you, my dear!" He looked her up and down. "As the naive little person you are, you've underestimated my well versed knowledge of all things." His eyes widened as he boasted of himself. "But as the days lengthen, you won't make that mistake again. They don't call me -The Well Read Walker for nothing. So please, don't soon forget who you're truly dealing with." He raised an eyebrow, and looked her up and down before disappearing down the fire torch lit halls.

She watched as he walked with a not so cool demeanor that befits him for the geek that he is. She smiled gently, as she knew that he was firmly in the game. That's all she wanted to know in the first place, considering his allegiance issues. He knew so many people, and what they were up to, that it was hard to place where he fell in the grand scheme of things. But now, Walker had her trust, what little of it she had to give.

After Julia opened the door into Corinth's room, readily removing her scarf, Oliveto started to growl. Corinth's deafening screams drowned out the sounds of the agitated pup, but Julia took note.

"That's a strange animal you've got there," she scoffed at the continual growler. Corinth's eyes lit up as she pulled him away from their embrace. "It's been much, much too long... honey!" She squeezed him again in another hug. His eyes welled up with tears. He stood there in the middle of his little dorm clinging tight to his mother. Never wanting to let go ever again.

They talked at the edge of his bed for only a short while. During that time, Corinth showed her his new llave and scolded the continuously growling Oliveto. He told his mother that the pup would warm up to her eventually. She looked down to Oliveto disparagingly, as if that warming process wouldn't be necessary.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think that animal can come with us, honey."

"Huh?" was all Corinth could manage to get out. "Where are we going?" he asked quizzically.

"Well, home of course. Now that the Draconian Chancellor has been ousted, we can go back home. Get back to living."

Corinth didn't know what to think. He was terrified to start school here a few months ago, but now it too felt like home. In fact, it felt more like home than Draconia ever did. "But mom, what about all the bad laws there?" He held up his brand new llave. "You always wanted me to learn magik, and now I might have a good shot at it." He tried to be considerate of the pressure she must be facing after all that's happened. "Can't we at least move or something? It doesn't have to be all the way up here in Hyperborean, but at least to your home World." He didn't want to live in La Envidia anymore than Draconia, but he figured the lax laws would at least afford him the opportunity to learn how to wield magik.

"Oh, honey," she flagged her hand at his questions, "Draconia will have those laws repealed. Things will be fine. Plus, you get to go back to your old bedroom. You haven't been there in years now."

He wasn't at all satisfied with her reasoning. The thought of that bedroom gave him the creeps anyway. After what happened there, it made his small dorm at Aurora Boreal seem so awesomely enchanting. "But you broke an international law. Aren't they going to try to put you away?"

She stiffened a great deal. "Look!" she said aggressively, "we'll be leaving within the hour, and that's all there is to it."

Corinth sighed deeply and stood up. "What about Oliveto? I can take him with us, can't I?" He bent down near the pup at the door, still growling with its head low to the ground. He stroked behind his ear. The dog's favorite spot. It caused him to roll over for Corinth, and Julia nearly gagged at the sight. "What's wrong?" he asked, drawing close to her, leaving Oliveto to whimper from the lost attention.

"It's nothing," she said, trying to remain composed. "We just need to get out of here as quickly as possible."

"Why though? I need to say goodbye to some people. I've been here for more than two months, I can't just leave without saying anything."

She looked down at the pleading boy without breaking her att.i.tude's stride. She gently placed her hands underneath his armpits and lifted him onto the bed. She had a rough go of it. Shaking somewhat as she put him down at the edge. His newfound height only slightly above her own. But she wore heels, and he was small and short for his age. They hugged while she tried convincing him of her logic. "We have bigger issues at hand... son," the awkwardness in her tone made Corinth's jawbone tighten. He didn't want to have this conversation anymore. "I need you to trust me. To support what I say is right for the family."

When she said the family, something dawned on Corinth. His dad told him that it'd take a very long time for his mom to ama.s.s the power needed to build a new portal. But the hand of fate was their solace. He could visit after she tamed the power growing within her. Corinth wasn't completely aware of how the gate to this World apart, that his mother created for his safety, was destroyed, but he knew it was. He wondered if his dad lied about being able to visit his mother, or if he just didn't know that she could get out on her own a lot faster than expected. He figured Sena. Hendrix would have known the answer to that. So, there was no reason to get upset about missing out on all this time with his mom.

Still, he couldn't help but continue to wonder why his mom desperately wanted to leave the safe haven that Aurora Boreal was considered to be. Maybe it's the same reason so many other parents took their kids back home. But he needed to know for sure. The ever-tempting curiosity of being psychic crept into his thoughts. He leaned in close and hugged his mother tighter. Her grasp around him was weak. She seemed more tired than normal. He felt it best that maybe he didn't go creeping around inside her head. It might hurt her in her current frail state of mind and body. She was far thinner than at the beach house not so long ago. He decided not to question anymore. He looked down at his beloved pup while tightly interlocking his fingers overtop his mothers shoulders. He couldn't imagine life without him. But he decided he'd give him back to Walker before he left the school for good.

As he drifted back toward his mother's face, he noticed something extremely odd. He grabbed a lump of her brown hair up in his fingers. She wore it down around her face today, with a nice summery white dress. He looked at her with his head tilted to the side. He pushed her hair back from her scalp and nearly collapsed. If it hadn't been for the quick woman catching him as he dropped, he definitely would have fallen off the edge of the bed. She pulled him in close and hugged a lot tighter than before. In fact, she constricted him with a grapple so tight that she was squeezing the air out of his little windpipes. His back arched as he cried out in pain.

"Shhh!" she implored him. "There's no reason to get upset now. Mommies here!" her s.a.d.i.s.tic tone was unsettling. Corinth still held his llave in his hand, which the girl was well aware of. "Not so fast, little soldier. I've got much bigger plans for you!"

Oliveto's screeching barks climbed to a louder and louder register, as he jumped up and bit the girl on the back of the leg. But she didn't budge one bit. The pup barely nicked her with those budding teeth of his. She lifted her leg behind her, and kicked out. The hard thrust sent Oliveto hurtling back into the dorm door with a loud thud.

Corinth screamed, "Oliveto!!!"

"Don't be so concerned with that dingy mutt. You're the one who's in danger here, little soldier." With that s.a.d.i.s.tic tone firmly in check, her appearance began matching the drawl of her way of speaking. Corinth prayed to his dad and real mom's names that he could have recognized the black roots to her hair before she got hold of him. His mom had light brown hair. Naturally brown, as in it grew out of her head that color. This girl clearly had darker roots than what she tried pretending.

Soon, she looked absolutely nothing like his mother. Not the same way Sena. Lilith, or rather, Camil, had morphed in his mind when she proved to be an evil traitor. This girl literally shaped shifted into another person. She shifted into a figure Corinth had interacted with before, but never knew it. The girl his father punched out months ago. The girl who's llave his father used to help them escape from Corinthia, when his real mother lost her cool. That's most likely where she is now. Still stuck in that World apart from all the others that she created for this very instance never to occur again.

The girl his father deemed, the cheetah girl, compressed his feeble body even further. Her strength seemed to be gradually increasing with every pa.s.sing second."Now!" she shouted like a maniac, "let's go!" She hopped up onto the bed with Corinth still in her grasp, lifting him off his feet, as she was taller than he was. She then ran straight for the window that Corinth looked out of every morning, hoping for a better day than the last. His wish unfortunately didn't come true this morning. The sun was high in the sky while Corinth's racing mind a.s.sumed they'd go crashing through the window, down onto the entry platform to the building. Instead, they went through the window, like it was instead a portal. A portal from which nothing came out on the other end.

No one knew, no one saw, only Oliveto, the green furred pup, witnessed the terrifying event. And he lay unconscious against the door to Corinth's former dorm. He was gone without a trace. Disappearing in broad daylight. For how long, no one but I, the Nexus, could tell.

Chapter 28:.

Forging The Next Chapter Of Fate.

Unknown...

A series of thin-legged feet scuttled through the hallways of the Eternal Vista castle. Clearly making their way to a specific destination. Five different bodies, hundreds of legs, all closing in on their instructed target.

Criston sat, strapped in a chair, in a rather empty room. Five openings all around the s.p.a.cious chamber. He looked down each one, turning his head from one to another. There was nothing to see, but he heard the h.o.a.rds of feet tapping against the ground.

"They'll be here a lot sooner than you likely expect." Drake didn't seem like the kind of man to do something he didn't believe was absolutely necessary. Despite the fact that he held him prisoner, Criston quite admired him in many ways.

"Why are you doing this?" Criston asked, trying to sound as vulnerable and non-threatening as possible.

"That's not really your concern. Those . . . things, on the other hand, should be." The stern featured man chuckled in a composed manner. His sharp nose, cube head, icy blue eyes, and short black hair reminded Cris of most men from Draconia. He was the father of their race, truly. His black robe left everything to the imagination. Only the light cream-colored skin of his hands showed, besides his face. Though he was technically dead, he looked to Cris to be the age of a typical fifty-year-old Draconian male. It was strange that a man that has been dead for over 1,000 years looks younger than Sebastian does. "So, Criston, my child, what's it going to be?" he looked up from the tools he had neatly scattered across the four legged table against the stonewall.

"Obviously," Cris fidgeted with his restraints, "I can't join you. My family is at risk here."

"But don't you see that they're not. I, well we, merely want to walk amongst the living again. Is that too much to ask, considering who we are!" He looked around the room, thinking of his brothers and sisters. "The Great Eight are the sole reason you exist. We saved the human race from extinction-"

"And then nearly killed us all in the Ancestry Wars!" Criston countered boldly.

"How much does a thirty-four-year old know about the old days!" he yelled, turning a slight red. Then quickly regained composure, as he realized his civility was in question. "Time wasn't recorded then the way it is now. Things happened and things pa.s.sed that were not remembered by all. The Ancestry Wars had a h.e.l.l of a lot of reason to be waged. Not all of them pertaining to power, as you may have been led to believe. Really, Aurora sacrificed her life, and essentially that of her own son, to end the feuding. Much more than power was at stake in those unsettling days." Drake -could easily sense that he was getting nowhere with Criston-fast. But truthfully, he only needed the hand. The one that guides fate. Drake's cold demeanor wasn't something to be dismissed, the way Criston had already done. Where Sebastian cared only about the advancement of Draconian blood, Drake only cared about the advancement of himself. He'd destroy Cris if it were in his best interest. But it wasn't. At least Cris already knew that much.

Drake turned back to the metal tools laid across the table. "You see, many confuse the properties of life and death. A lot believe and interpret pain as a symbol of sadness, darkness, and ultimately death. But this is so a misguided theme. My apathy is what spurs me in these current days, Cris."

Criston sat back in the chair, trying to seem relaxed as the tight restraints cut into his dark skin. Drake made his way over. He stood in front of the former police officer, like a king of men and G.o.ds alike. His frame was ma.s.sive and well determined. In fact, his appearance was downright intimidating to the muscular, but more lean, Criston. h.e.l.lishly tall, even more so than the six-two man seated before him, monolithically broad, and certainly mentally imposing. He looked down with a glint of respect, somehow mixed with condescension, all wrapped up concisely in his stark blue eyes.

"I am to understand that you are a prideful man?" Cris nodded in acceptance of the a.s.sertion. "I am, as well. But here in Eterna, there is no emotion. There is no love, fear, joy, or even physical pain. But the one thing," he stretched out a lonely finger in the dead air, "...the only thing they leave for those to experience; is sorrow. I have been here more than a thousand years feeling sorry for my deeds perceived by another as sins. That other I speak of, views itself as above me, but I don't quite agree. It is the price the human mind pays for having memories. To feel regret over them."

Criston honestly didn't understand. He wasn't a dead man, at least not yet, so it'd be hard for him to comprehend the eternal sorrow of ones, not so well lived, life on earth. His only point of reference was the time he spent in the Halls of Sorrow, with the Keeper Russell, before entering through the eternal gate.

"See, Eterna is a place of nothingness. We don't eat, we don't drink, we don't feel, and we just don't care. But I want my purpose back. I see the eight Worlds have developed to the point that they're starting to come back together. Children born of two different races! I never dreamed of such a thing in my time being possible without tragedy on its heels. I want to experience this great age, I want to live again!" his shouts echoed throughout the five halls. Those halls continually weighed on Criston's mind. He could hear them coming for him. While torn between the words of Drake and the imminent arrival of his predators, he caught a hole in Drakes story that he didn't understand.

"Why then help Sebastian?" he blatantly appealed.

Drake was still in his dreamlike state when Criston spoke out. He looked toward the ceilings like he could see the life in them. But now his facial expression turned sour as he lowered his head to an angle of eye contact with Criston. His body jerked as he laughed. "Who helps a madman?" Cris didn't know if it were rhetorical or not, but he didn't have an answer either way. "Only other madmen, is the solemn answer." Drake leaned in close. "I am no madman, young Draconian."

That's what his overgrown ego told him at least. Julia didn't think she was being unreasonable either when she nearly killed the ones she loves most. He still stood there, way too close to Criston's face. Cris was shocked that no heat or even air came from the man's breath. It were as if he didn't breathe at all, which was highly likely, considering this is the place of afterlife.

"Then how'd you break the Status Quo without help from the outside?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out. If indeed, you live long enough to resume your search for answers. But trust, I'm not counting on it," he chuckled, turning away. "But you see now. Just in your own phrasing of that statement. 'Help from the outside.' It implies that we exist in a prison. Which we do. And I'll have no more of it!" Drake seemed angry, but still very much so composed.

"Then how can I help?" Cris and Drake both knew he wasn't asking that question so he could decide whether to help. He just wanted information.

"Well played, sir." Drake understood, but obliged nonetheless. "The hand must come off." He pointed at Cris' right hand. It was restrained with the other by some magik binding device behind his back. The bangles lit up in white and purple every few seconds, while tightly wrapped around his wrist. They reminded him of the handcuffs he used to restrain drunks belligerently roaming the streets, and all sorts of criminals in Draconia. Except these are a lot more high-tech than simple handcuffs.

"How will that help you?" Cris inquired.

"You don't even know what you have there, boy. I could redesign the entire universe, dimension by dimension, with that thing there. You're too weak to wield it properly."

Now we're getting somewhere, Criston thought. The hand of fate was a lot more than a shiny new toy that Cris couldn't put down, for reasons, oh so obvious. He tried to pry open this now unlocked door into Drake's mind. Enter the psyche of his ancient ancestor. "So, the hand comes off then?" Cris needed to sound a little less like a detective and more like a victim. But he wasn't used to playing the role of victim, so he'd take another stab at it, if he got the chance.

"No, it doesn't. That's the sole reason you're still alive, you idiot!" His rage spilled onto the surface of their confrontational plateau. Drake's lips were uneven and trembling like he was growling from inside his soul.

Criston decided to dial it back. "Really, I don't even know why I'm here. I came looking for some ambiguous, and not to mention stupid, idea that the afterlife was in disarray. I don't even get that notion. Things are what they are, right?"

Drake released what anger he had left. Criston knew he was on the right track now. "Well, you could reevaluate your mission," the grand figure suggested. "You could use the hand to grant me, and any others, of course, a chance at a new beginning." He stopped as if he had explained himself thoroughly, or perhaps he was pausing to gauge Cris' reaction.

He didn't shudder or even move an inch in that steel chair they sat him in. He tried to behave as though he were open to Drake's -thought process."And how could I do that," he gestured with his head toward his wrist. "I don't know much about this thing." He wasn't lying. That's precisely why this was the perfect opportunity to pump Drake for information.

"You can do this, by making me, and whomsoever else you please, Original Souls."

Criston couldn't hide his shock. Drake basked in the glory of startling Criston to the core of his being. He had heard of this deep-rooted mythology before. "This..." Criston gestured to his wrist again, because he wouldn't dare finish the sentence.

"Yes, did your mother not tell you?" he laughed decisively. "So again, young Draconian, what will it be?" Criston understood just how much the conversation was over. So far over that he felt no reason to answer. He'd wait for the creatures to arrive and then initiate his escape plan. "Don't just sit there boy! I need to know!" No response. Drake didn't take well to being ignored. He moved with an oppressive saunter toward Criston, keeping composure for his captive's sake. "I started to tell you of the difference I've learned about people's confusion of life and death. See, I don't feel, thus making me rather impervious to pain. Impervious to any sensation beyond the crushing guilt that continually weighs on my soul. This is death. But you," he stuck his firm finger into Criston's chest, "you can feel every little breeze in the air," he revealed that he had one of the smaller instruments from the table in his hand, "and every little cut to your skin."

He slashed open Criston's navy blue shirt when he ran the sharp edge of the b.u.t.terfly knife across his chest. The fabric ripped apart, each thread giving way to the blade splitting across and putting on display the blood profusely dripping from the Fate Forger's open wound.

Cris bit down hard on his tongue. To the point that it too bleed. He couldn't decide which pain was worse, but the new sensation in his mouth distracted him from the searing pain on his chest. He didn't want to scream, lest he give this torturer any satisfaction.

Drake wasn't angered by Criston's response to the weak gesture. Instead, he was inspired. He swiftly walked back to the table and grabbed another tool. One with a loop at the end and two handles, like a vice grip. He squeezed twice. Criston automatically got the message from that display. "I wonder, what's a finger to the man who holds fate in his hand?" Not quite a clever riddle, but certainly a sinister one. He walked even more emphatically this time. He wasted not a second. He went behind Criston's chair. Cris prepared himself for the pain as much as he could.

"Ah!!! Ahhhh! G.o.d!" But nothing could prepare him for the shock that radiated through his nervous system. His back arched as far as it -could with the chair and the braces around his wrist and ankles restraining him. He nearly pa.s.sed out, but Drake smacked him on the side of the head so hard that a tooth came loose. It knocked him back into the mix. He couldn't see clearly, all he heard was a continuous ringing bell sound in his left ear. But he was still awake. Bleeding out from several ends. Drake knew he couldn't penetrate Criston's right hand. He instead opted to cut off one of Criston's natural fingers on the left.

It wasn't enough for Drake. He took that same b.u.t.terfly knife and drove it into Criston's right knee. This was the anvil that broke the camel's back. The chair toppled over, the metal made a loud clank against the ground. Cris cried out from the horrific stabbing. Drake left the knife in his leg to fester. The pain was the least of Cris' worries. But this wound was the one that would actually affect his chances of escape the most. He needed to be able to move quickly to get one of those . . . things, to unwillingly break his restraints. The 'things' in question, had already entered the five long channels that emptied into their chamber. They'd be there in only minutes.

Drake knelt down and stole a hard glance from a bloodied, seething Criston. Two glares stemming from two sets of brightly lit blue eyes just above cheeks pressed against the ground. "No, I can't kill you, because that would nullify my only desire. But once the Ravagers get here, you will understand why life is a gift, and very much a curse as well. You have the lavish ability to feel and experience pleasure, but also pain. These things, they don't kill. They mutilate, maim, and warp a person. Their soul, mind, and certainly body. Then they repair you, with their hundred handed touch, just to do it all again. And trust the physical mutilation is patched up only at the exact point before death. The other symptoms they don't even bother to address." He shook his head with a dark grin. "They just somehow know when that moment before death is," he leaned over with a hunched back, and whispered into Cris' ear, "and they've never been wrong. Never!" he insisted.

Drake thought, how appropriate. His little pets had arrived. They stopped just inches away from the mouth of each tunnel. They looked like ma.s.sively oversized centipedes. A most disgusting sight. They waited to be commanded. They wore similar braces to Cris' around their necks. That's likely how these wild creatures were being delivered their orders, and so effectively controlled. Cris still wouldn't speak. His plan wasn't in the dumps just yet.

"You know, I have actually enjoyed your company. I'm surprised I can say that, on account I've felt absolutely nothing in over a millennium. But today, I see a change coming. No matter what you want to happen, you will do it through me, and me only, young Draconian."

He moved quickly to the wall where the instruments on the table were. He flipped the table over and pressed into a brick on the wall, then two others in a particular sequence. Instantly, the wall shifted, one brick moving behind another, another moving above the other. Eventually, a door was unveiled. He twisted the k.n.o.b and it opened up to a room with several other people in it. He looked back to the desperate man lying on his side, strapped to a metal chair.

"If you wish to see your meddling mommy, and all those whom you may care about ever again, you'll succ.u.mb quickly. Either way, ETERNITY WILL BECOME REALITY, young Draconian." He stepped inside the room, and just before closing the door, he yelled back. "ATTACK!!!"

And the Ravagers converged on Criston enthusiastically, like the torturous fiends they are.

The end, for now...

*Author Thoughts*