The demon knight struggled, clutching at its stumps. While it was distracted, Cyrus darted in, blade flashing, and struck it in the gut, dragging the weapon across. A spurt of blood and the beast fell to its knees, gurgling. The wicked teeth were still visible, frightening and a threat when Cyrus stepped in behind the creature. "I guess you weren't here last time I visited. I cut off the head of one of your brethren, stabbed another through the heart and rolled a dragon skeleton downhill into a whole passel of your kind."

He raised Praelior and brought it down, severing the head of the demon knight before it could utter a response. "I find the old ways are best, wouldn't you agree?" He spat, removing a thick coating of blood that filled his mouth. "Of course you would. You're dead. The dead don't argue."

"Malpravus might disagree with you." Vaste's voice came from behind him, and Cyrus turned, having forgotten the battle. A few skeletons still moved on the ground and one demon knight was being toyed with by Fortin, but otherwise the fight was over. Members of the Sanctuary army loitered around the field, corpses of wendigos and demon knights scattered on the trampled ground along with an assortment of unattached bones.

"Thanks for the heal," Cyrus said, surveying the scene before him. "Looks like we won."

"Was there ever any doubt?" The troll's smile carried a hint of mischief. "Still, I won't be comfortable until we've left this forsaken place behind, hopefully with a cure in hand. Or something that can lead to a cure. Or possibly just some pie."

Fortin picked up the last demon knight and brought him down over his knee, filling the air with a cracking noise. The rock giant roared and pulled the head from the creature's body, holding it aloft amidst ragged cheers from some of the Sanctuary combatants. "I suppose that's a sign that the battle is over," Cyrus said.

"And a sign that the party has begun," Vaste said.

"We can move when you're ready." Curatio wandered up to them, making his way over the debris that littered the battlefield. "Few deaths, few injuries, and a large and motivated army make for an easy conquest of this realm."

"The God of Death should put more effort into his personal guard." Cyrus shook his head. "We'll head for the Eusian Tower in five."

They assembled in formation, with the weakest and those newly resurrected pushed to the back of the army. In the far distance stood the Eusian tower, a structure larger than any Cyrus had seen, a staggering black spike that stretched into the sky. "I've only been in the first level," he said, staring up at the heights. "What do you suppose is at the top?"

"Damned, more damned, and still more damned," Vaste replied. "It's their stock-in-trade here in the Realm of Death. Remember the boiling oil? Remember the cavern of ice?"

Cyrus shuddered. "Couldn't forget those. Glad we don't have to jump through those hoops this time."

"Yes, hopefully someone's left the master's chambers open for us to plunder."

They trudged on and every once in a while Cyrus would step to the side of the column, looking for the back of his army as it snaked off into the distance. The Eusian tower grew closer and closer, stretching beyond where the clouds would have been-if the Realm of Death had any.

"The Fields of Paxis go on forever," Cyrus said under his breath.

"Not forever," Curatio said, "but near enough that you can see forever from them."

Cyrus smiled. "I suppose the few more minutes it will take us to get there must seem like such small and inconsequential things to someone who's lived as long as you."

Curatio waited before answering, seeming to take in the red skies and peaceful grasses that blew around them. "Aye, small things perhaps, but the stuff life is made of. If you seek to have the minutes pass faster, then what you seek is death, unintending as you may be. Minutes are all we have."

They were at the tower moments later, climbing the great steps to file through the enormous doors. They crossed a bridge onto the grand, circular platform at the heart of the tower that branched off in four directions. On the wall opposite where they entered, two gargantuan doors stood open, large enough for five dragons to climb on each others' shoulders and enter.

"Based on the scale of the chambers of the gods I've seen," Vaste said, "I can't imagine fighting something of the size they must be."

"I've always told you size matters," Erith said from behind, drawing a dirty look from the troll.

Cyrus looked back; his army stretched across the bridge and out the doors. "There's no way a wizard will be able to cast an area teleport with us strung out like this."

"Kinda reminds me of Enterra," Erith muttered.

"That's the problem with having an army so large, it's like a snake, how it stretches," Terian said, looking up into the darkness above them. "Where are we going?"

"This way." Cyrus led them through the doors. The tower was silent save for the noises of the Sanctuary force marching through. The smells of cold air and hot oil had mixed to form something unsavory that settled in Cyrus's nostrils when he was on the platform and failed to leave as he entered Mortus's chambers.

The doors gave way to a balcony that overlooked a treasure room. Staircases curved down either side and there were pedestals lining the walls as well as shelves crammed with items that stretched to the far end of the room. Underneath a banner that held a picture of a hand reaching down to pluck a human being was a portal that crackled with light energy, as though it were the opposite of the one that had brought them into the Realm.

"Where d'you reckon that goes?" Erith asked the question Cyrus had already been wondering.

"Nowhere we'll be exploring today," Alaric said, surprising Cyrus by appearing at the front of the army. He hadn't seen the Ghost since the column had begun its march. "Shall we officers begin our exploration?"

"Company halt," Cyrus called out. "Officers, let's take a look around. Everyone else, hold position here."

Cyrus descended to the floor, Alaric, Curatio and Vara immediately behind him with the other officers trailing.

"What went there?" Longwell pointed, indicating a large pedestal in the middle of the room, empty of whatever it once held.

"I'm going to guess Letum, the Staff of Death," Cyrus said, moving past it without looking back.

"You sure?" Longwell peered at the empty space.

"Pretty sure."

Cyrus passed minerals, vases and other assorted treasures, pointing them out. Vaste followed behind, scooping up the less fragile items and stowing them in a burlap sack. When the troll picked up a glowing orb, he squinted at it. "Is this...?"

Alaric gazed at it. "It keeps anyone from teleporting out of the realm while Mortus is not here-preventing anyone from leaving save through one of the portals."

"Let's smash it," Terian said. "I don't like feeling trapped."

"Here," Curatio held his hand out, and Vaste gave it to him. Without words, Curatio cast a spell and the light left the orb. "Now it's intact, and we can sell or keep it as we choose."

"Breaking it would be more fun," the dark knight said.

The treasures were minor in many cases; most not worth taking, pieces of old weapons or other junk. They passed several bookshelves filled with old volumes. "You think a cure is in here?" Cyrus pulled one of the tomes, its pages cracked with age and wear, the writing all in runes that although familiar were unreadable to him. "I don't even know what this says."

"It's called literacy," Erith said with a snicker. "It involves reading books, not eating them."

"Fine." He walked over to her and held the page in front of her face. "Use your amazing gift of literacy and read this to me."

She squinted at the page. "It says...uh...um..." She looked at him and blinked. "It says you're stupid."

"Really? I thought it said you're incredibly mature. By which I mean old."

"It's written in the language of the ancients," Curatio said, looking over Cyrus's shoulder. "There are few who can read it."

"Can you?" Cyrus looked back at Curatio, questioning.

The elf smiled. "Of course. I am rather ancient, after all."

"Why haven't I ever heard of these ancients?" Erith pulled a book off the shelf then discarded it after one look.

"Because you're uneducated," Cyrus replied. "Listen to lessons, don't run your mouth through them."

"You're about to learn a lesson-"

"The ancients were wiped out during the War of the Gods," Curatio said, taking the book from Cyrus. "They left behind quite a few remnants of their civilization-for those who bother to look."

"The portals," Cyrus said with a sudden realization.

"Very good." Curatio's finger ran up and down the page of the book and he smiled. "And the Citadel and Colosseum in Reikonos. Some other scattered artifacts, great and small, exist."

"How were they wiped out?" Vaste asked the question, the troll standing at a distance, leaning against a shelf.

"It all comes back to the War of the Gods," Curatio said, still splitting his attention between the book and the words he spoke. "When the gods were challenged over meddling in mortal affairs, they lashed out, striking down those who offended them greatest. After the upheaval in the pantheon that came from some of their own-Bellarum, in particular-instigating attacks against them, they needed an example of what happens when you challenge their might.

"So, they chose the largest, most prominent civilization, the greatest threat to their power, and destroyed them." He turned a page. "Very little was left standing when they were done."

"That's not how I've heard the story told," Nyad sniffed. "I always heard Bellarum, the God of War, in his wickedness, showed mortals how to breach the realms of the gods. He sent his armies to wreak havoc with them and when Eruditia, Goddess of Knowledge, was slain with Bellarum's Warblade, the other gods and goddesses banded together in outrage over the atrocity and destroyed his army, punishing him for a hundred years before allowing him to return to the Pantheon."

"Yes, well, I would certainly trust the word of your nannies over the testimony of someone who was actually present at the time," Vara said, voice laden with sarcasm.

"As always, there was more to the story than is widely known," Alaric spoke up. "History records considerable fighting on Arkaria at the time, between an alliance of dwarves, elves and gnomes standing against the titans, the trolls and goblins on the other side. The dragons had risen up from their isolation. The gods were picking sides and at the heart of it all was the ancients."

"Also," Curatio said, looking up from his book, "a guild called Requiem, composed of some of the first humans to arrive on these shores from across the Sea of Carmas, was in the middle of the fight."

Cyrus looked around, and his eyes rested on Longwell, who blushed. "That's the land I'm from, yeah."

"Oh?" Cyrus raised an eyebrow at the dragoon. "I...actually didn't look at you on purpose, but...interesting."

"So how did it all happen?" Erith looked at Curatio. "I mean, I'd always heard Nyad's version, more or less, and about the alliances fighting each other."

"A story for another time," Alaric interrupted, drawing an acidic look from Curatio as he closed the book the elf was holding. "We are in the Realm of Death, after all, and our armies are waiting for us."

Cyrus had stopped at a pedestal that held a single piece of parchment, covered in runes. "What about this?"

"Because the perfect place to display the curse you're using to kill off an enemy race is in plain sight," Vaste said, deadpan.

"It is when there's a barrier put around it by the God of Death himself," Alaric said.

"So it's unbreachable?" J'anda walked to the edge of the pedestal. "Because you'd need one of the godly weapons to break down a barrier put in place by the gods, correct? Or be a god yourself, I suppose..." His fingers hovered over the outer edge of the barrier, a faint glow obvious only by close examination.

"Which means it's...out of reach," Cyrus said, numb, staring at the parchment.

"Not exactly," Alaric said, voice taut. "If you would all stand back?" Exchanging a curious look with J'anda, Cyrus moved away from the scroll, followed by the other officers. Alaric looked at the pedestal then drew his sword, Aterum, and a blast of force shot from the tip with a power greater than his usual spells.

The energy hit the barrier and coruscated, crackling against it, filling the air with blinding flashes as the barrier dissolved under the force of the Ghost's spell. The energy faded, leaving the piece of parchment in the center of the pedestal. Shocked silence prevailed among the Sanctuary officers as Alaric returned his sword to its sheath with precision.

"Wow," came Vaste's voice, laced with irony. "It would appear someone's got a godly weapon and didn't bother to tell the rest of us. I'm sure this will be a hotly debated topic in the lounge tonight, but probably not in the Council Chambers, at least not now. Maybe in-"

"-the fullness of time," Cyrus chorused along with a few of the other officers. If Alaric was amused, he gave no sign. Curatio appeared to be suppressing a chuckle.

"No, we can discuss it when we return to Sanctuary, if you wish," Alaric said, somewhat prim. "But I cannot guarantee I will answer all your questions."

Vaste shrugged. "Well, it's progress."

Curatio approached the pedestal and picked up the parchment, holding it in front of his eyes, reading it. He murmured under his breath in intense concentration.

"So?" Erith looked at him. "Is it...?" Her voice trailed off.

Curatio did not answer at first, still staring at the page. "It is," he said. "The curse comes from a branch of dark magic long forgotten."

"What kind of spell caster would have used it?" Erith said with mild curiosity.

Curatio looked to Alaric, then back to Erith. "I...I'm not sure. It...it needs more study."

"Anything else worth taking as long as we're here?" Vaste pointed to the bag he carried. "I have room for more plunder."

They scoured the room, taking a few more choice objects before returning to the staircase and the guild members waiting. Cyrus looked over the heads of his army and saw that the formation stretched beyond the bridge and platform and out of the tower. "As spread out as we are, a wizard spell will not get all of us home in one casting," he said to the officers waiting. "We need to evacuate in phases."

"At least we did away with the barrier to teleportation," Terian said. "Otherwise we'd be heading back to the portal we came in by, right?"

"We didn't clear the dungeons underneath us," Cyrus said. "There could be enemies waiting in ambush."

"Still thinking of Termina?" Longwell's voice was quiet, so low that Cyrus knew it was meant for his ears only. Still, Vara turned her head and caught his eye before flicking her gaze away.

"I need the strongest fighters to stay until everyone else is out," Cyrus announced. "If you came with us to the Hand of Fear raid, I want you to remain behind until I give you the order to accept teleport. We'll start here and begin walking our way up the line, teleporting out as much of the army per time as we can." He looked to Nyad. "Care to begin?"

The elf nodded, and her hands lit up with spell energy. A blue orb appeared in front of Cyrus, the surface flaring with the magics contained within. Flashes lit the walls around him as he watched about three hundred people disappear into the teleportation spell, leaving behind forty or so.

"Move up," he ordered, striding back across the bridge, where the platform was filled. Fortin rose above the rest, and when Cyrus saw the rock giant, he called out to him. "We're doing an area teleportation spell to send the army back to Sanctuary, Fortin. I need you to stay behind and help cover the retreat in case any of Mortus's creations are lurking."

"Sounds like good clean fun," the rock giant replied. "Unless of course they are lurking, in which case it'll be good messy fun." Fortin laughed, a deep rumbling sound that reminded Cyrus of the noise he heard while visiting a quarry. The rock giant stopped and peered at Cyrus. "Messy...because of the blood of our enemies covering our hands, you know?"

"I caught that, yes."

The next teleportation spell cleared the platform and bridges of the Eusian tower, sending another five hundred or so members of the Sanctuary army back home. Cyrus followed the bridge to the exit, stepping out under the red sky to see the remainder of his force crowding the stairs. Another few hundred more were sent on, followed by another wave as the path widened into the Fields of Paxis. Less than three hundred remained, Cyrus estimated as the wind rushed past, stirring the tall grass.

"This is it," Cyrus said. "Veterans, hold off until the last of our people are away." A teleportation orb from the last spell cast still lingered in front of him, hovering like a glass ball filled with light, waiting for him to seize it. "I don't think there's anything that's going to try and attack us now, but there's no use tempting fate."

Nyad raised her hands to cast the final teleport spell, and Cyrus looked away. The winds were stirring the grass again and he remembered the horrific things he had seen when the demon knight nearly killed him. What the hell were those? he wondered. A murmur ran through the army behind him and he snapped to attention as the lights of the teleportation orbs guttered out, like a fire being snuffed.

He turned to Nyad, his heart racing. She stood before him, a perplexed look on her face. "Let me try again," she said. Her hands moved, the light filled them and she released it, but no orbs appeared. "I...don't know what's happening! I can't seem to summon-"

"I know what this is," Alaric said, voice filled with menace.

An icy hand grabbed Cyrus by the heart. "No. You don't mean..."

The breeze turned into a howling wind and the air crackled with power. Red forks of lightning sprang from the space behind them on the tower steps, lancing out, a maelstrom of pure magical fury splitting open the sky. From it emerged a behemoth; a creature with four legs anchored on a rounded pelvis, a thorax that sprouted eight arms, each twitching. The head appeared from the rift last of all, and it bore the beak of a bird, but was open so that jagged teeth were visible even in the flickering light cast by the portal it had opened.

It descended as though it were being lowered on a wire, gently, from the rift, which began to seal shut behind it. Within seconds, the tongues of red lightning had receded, revealing the sky above, now an even darker maroon than before. The maelstrom had been replaced by an eerie, still calm that settled over the entirety of the Realm, and a silence hung heavy over the last remnants of the Sanctuary army, punctuated by the realization that their escape, which seemed inevitable only a moment before, was now impossible.

Mortus-the God of Death-had returned home.