9. Pardesi_chick

Both Haruka and Rin breeze in a populous town situated near a dense forest and lush greeneries greeted their fatigue eyes. The horse's cloven gaited on the ground to make a "clippity clop" noise.

Due to their attire; townsfolk eyed them in suspicion.

"What must we do now?" Rin heaved a weary sigh.

"We need to search for a man named, Ragnar," Haruka murmured.

Near the port, huge vessels parked at walkway as men strode back and forth. Booming voices incorperated with heavy footfalls.

"Who are you?" a low voice was heard from behind.

In unision, both Rin and Haruka pivoted on their feet to eye the newcomer. His steely glare locked onto them.

Just as Rin's hand hovered above the katana's hilt, those narrowed gaze trailed the action. As several more grim expression males surrounded the bizarre pair.

"Haruka," Rin's hushed voice alerted the woman. "I think we have a crux in our plan."

"My name is Haruka," the blonde haired samurai bowed. "Please forgive my companion's threatening stance."

The group remained silent as their curiosity was greatly piqued. From the "robe" adorned on the duo's frame and unusual weapons they have figured that that these were foreigners.

"What can we serve you today, Haruka?" the same man who acknowledged their presences came forth. "My name is Ragnar, is there something that you are looking for?"

"In fact, yes," she smiled in return. "We are looking for a man by the name, Ragnar."

He blinked once whilst turned to observe the rest piled around. But Haruka crossed both arms leisurely and Rin's gaze shifted to heed the enigmatic group.

"Well, I have not seen you before," he begun carefully. "But if that is the case, for what may the reason be for Haruka to scout for me?"

"The two of us; he is Takashima Rin and I are willing to join your crew," she crooked her head. "I am not sure if you have heard of that king Unseelie..."

"You are acquaintance of him?" Ragnar snorted in reply. "Why have you not said this sooner! Come to my ship and a good timing too."

"Thank you," she bowed once again. "Why is that for?"

"Follow me," he waved a hand at them.

Once on the ship, both Haruka and Rin learnt about Ragnar's motive to pillage a village. They made an eye contact yet the female grant an devillish grin.

"Finally," she intoned. "I can use my blade once again."

"I'm.. not looking forward to this," Rin muttered. "But again, we don't have a choice."

The ship set sailed on the sky-blue water; ripple affect on the surface as it bopped from it's undercurrent. On deck, everyone bustled exception for the two Japanese samurais.

By mid-evening, the ship had dock hidden from watchful gazes of the villagers. Their feet made as little sound as possible as Haruka's heart thumped from the familiar taste of adrenaline before an attack.

The castle loomed ahead; tiny figures were spotted from afar.

"Once you attack," Ragnar glanced at his temporary crew. "You are responsible for your own life."

"I understand," Haruka nodded once whilst Rin remained mute.

A bellow reproduce beyond the hill before men emerge from their hidden spot. Weapons clutched on their hands and on the opposite end; guards stirred inward the castle.

Screams erupted when Ragnar's men rushed through the open gate before the harried gatekeepers could pull at a trigger to slam it shut.

The sounds of blade in heated exchange ricocheted and violent curses ensued.

In the meantime, Haruka fought deep in concentration. Their swords were antithetic from it's weight and built. Thus far, the female managed to slice her opponent.

An immediate sting came from her back to elicit a cry of agony. The sharp end of a arrow visible on the front below her collarbone. Blood dripped from the wound but still, she never faltered.

"T-TAKASHIMA! WHERE ARE YOU, ASSHOLE?!" her strangled voice hinted of burning rage.

Unlike his travelling companion, Rin had chosen to stay low in between the castle's shadows. He had no antecedent to volunteer himself a sacrificial pig until of the guard stumbled upon his crouched figure.

Electrified energy coursed through Rin's veins as he raised a hand with the katana gripped firmly. However, it flung from his hand at the first contact. He quickly sidestepped when his nemesis swung for him.

Wings attached to his feet, Rin bolted for the inner section of the castle.

Confusion reigned on him due to the crooks and cranny. A flitting memory to the past where he was captured in a dreary castle and Haruka had saved his life.

"I have no sympathy," he told himself only to skitter several paces behind at the same time holler.

A huge creature hung on a wall but upon closer inspection: a rough fur coat. Rin's heart catapulted to the back of his throat and sweat tracks down his jittery body.

His trembling fingers edged toward the once ferocious beast who's heavy coat became a wall decoration. The samurai had never come across any of sort.

I could sell this to someone, his inner voice whispered.

The male decided to drag the heavy coat down and came face to face with the gaping mouth. He tilted his head to study it's feature and soon felt impressed with the sharp canines and scary expression.

He gingerly dragged the material to search for an escape route. The fear of getting left behind terrified him and quickened his pace. The slap of his sandals on the cold ground echoed throughout the corridor.

An arrow skimmed past Rin as a window shattered. He toppled on the floor and inhaled a sharp breath; a trickle of blood oozed from the cut on his cheek.

They saw him.

****

The blonde head samurai was able to stand on both feet even as the jutted arrow nestled in her body. Blood coated the entire left part and she had trouble moving her hand from the affected section.

Her labored breath clouded her vision but Haruka fought with all her strength. Although, what kept her from passing out was Takashima's face in her head.

Rage exploded, the bastard was nowhere to be seen.

When a thought occured; the rose she had received from the castle. She pulled out the bright rose from her kimono to stare at it.

How does it work?

The female's heart hammered continuously, as several men advanced on her. With no shame, she admitted that it was a loosing battle on her side. The red rose was a reminder for her.

"Stay back," she warned in a low voice. "This will not end well."

Haruka's caution fell on deaf ears when she had no choice but to summon whatever came out of the flower in her strong grasped.

"I, Haruka, summon a beast from this red rose!" the words came naturally out of her mouth.

A sparkle of light shimmered in front of her just as Rin appeared from the corner of her vision. A booming roar literally rocked the foundation. A huge animal with horns and hairy body stood.

It's cerulean eyes flickered toward Haruka whilst bare fangs visible.

"What the-!" many soldiers scattered away from the vision of a monster.

"Kill them," she whispered.

The beast reared it's head high to let loose a spine-chilling roar and slashed his heavy paws at the front. Those unfortunate were airborne and blood rained below.

The beast continued to ravage, limbs were torn and dead bodies cluttered everywhere. Haruka leaned sideway against a chilly wall to clutched the arrow and accompanied by a hiss, she forced the object out.

"Let me help," Rin came forward.

"Fuck off," she glowered at him. "I'll kill you later."

"I was lost in the bloody castle," he whispered heatedly as the beast fought in the background. "I'm injured too but not as bad as you."

Forest-green eyes stared ominously at the playboy. He meticulously inched out the arrow when Ragnar came to where they stood.

"We have to go now," he frowned at the injured girl.

Haruka cried out when the arrow was free as more blood poured out.

"Come!" Rin hefted her from the right at the same time, dragged the coat.

Finally, the beast sauntered over covered in human blood. It's ferocious eyes locked onto the trio whilst Ragnar became guarded in case, the animal chose to tear them limb from limb.

Instead, the beast bowed it's head before he vanished and the red rose glowed in her hand.

"Crazy," she snorted. "This is absolutely crazy.."

The rest of Ragnar's crew managed to escape as well. A few damage was done and lives lost but they were able to plunder rare loots from the castle. 

10. TARDIS_at_221B_

As she drifted through the tumultuous ocean in an ancient Viking-style longship, Charlotte Johnson wondered just what she had gotten herself into. She wore strange leather armor, matching that of the men and women surrounding her. One of the men stood near the bow of the ship, raving about Valhalla, the honor of battle, and accepting death and any other ailments as part of the Gods plans. The rest of the Vikings shouted brashly in agreement, while she and Ellie just exchanged mystified looks.

Several hours ago, they had stepped unwittingly out of the blue box and straight into a Viking port. Now, she was looking at a gargantuan castle directly ahead of her. She put her head in hands, feeling like she was going to be sick. She wished she had refused to board or used her big mouth for good - but she couldn't. She had been entirely frozen, just going along with whatever was thrown her way.

She heard heavy footsteps pounding their way toward her and carefully raised her head. The man who was speaking at the bow now towered above her, holding an ancient wooden shield and spear.

After a moment, she scampered back, fearing that he was going to bring it down on her head.

"Do not run. Join us in our siege, and make Odin proud. It is your fate." He pronounced proudly, holding the weapon out to her.

"No way! I'm not joining your army, and I don't care about fate, or pleasing whoever you're raving about. Just leave me alone," she replied hastily.

"How dare you disgrace us and how dare you ignore the Gods wishes! You will fight," he growled throwing the shield at her feet.

He turned on his heel and marched back towards the bow.

Ellie gave her a gentle nudge.

"At this point, I think our best bet is to go for it," she whispered, gesturing at the weapon.

Charlotte cautiously reached for the shield and found she could barely lift it.

"I think this thing weighs as much as I do! How am I supposed to fight with this?" She whispered frantically.

All Ellie replied with was a conflicted look and a shrug, as the ship reached the shore.

"Real helpful," Charlotte remarked, collecting her sword and spear and stepping carefully from the ship.

Just up the hill loomed a towering medieval castle. It was expansive - from her position, she couldn't even make out its edges. Its towers were so tall they seemed to touch the sky. The sight of it reminded her of the first time she saw the castle at Hogwarts.

However, when she saw Hogwarts, it looked warm, inviting even. She was going to make a new life for herself. When she saw Hogwarts, she was a giddy eleven-year-old who had just discovered magic. Now, she was a seventeen-year-old about to storm a castle in a foreign land, terrified out of her wits.

The group reached the top of the hill and she froze in her tracks, the full weight of her situation crashing down on her. All she could hear was her breathing, rapid and shaky, and a matching heartbeat. Dropping her shield at her own feet, she put her hands over her face, wishing she was anywhere but there. Internally, she was screaming at herself for freezing up now, at the worst possible time. She knew it was inevitable - if she panicked like this before a math test, how did she think she was going to react to looting a medieval castle?

Her breathing accelerated, becoming quicker and quicker until she was light headed. She sat on the cold grass, putting her head between her knees, feeling as though she was about to fall over, be sick, and pass out all at once.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her from her panic. She could hear someone shouting her name. She glanced up ashamedly and saw Ellie looking back at her, obviously concerned.

"You okay?" She asked, giving her a hand up.

"What do you think?" Charlotte replied sarcastically, then covered her own mouth.

"Sorry for asking," Ellie replied quietly.

Charlotte tried to apologize but was cut off by the loudest a battle cry she'd ever heard. Suddenly the entire Viking army, joined by a few other longships containing similarly terrified tributes, rushed towards the castle.

They were met with a small volley of arrows from a few of the guards. She screamed as one of the arrows whistled past her ear, plunging into the chest of another warrior. Still, they plowed forward, almost reaching the castle before the rest of the army streamed out. The two groups clashed violently, swords slashing left and right spears flying across the battlefield.

A man clad in heavy armor rushed her, spear held high above his head. She hunkered behind her shield and he hit it full force. She was knocked onto her back and panicked, stabbing wildly upward with the spear. She managed to knock the attacker's helmet from his head. Her instincts took over, and before she knew it, her spear was nearing his throat. He stumbled backward, then stopped abruptly. She saw his face drain of color, and he hit the ground, a spear protruding from his back.

She felt Ellie's hand on her back, pushing her forward, across the open drawbridge. The rest of the Viking army made its way into the castle. They dashed from room to room, coming out with handfuls of glittering jews and precious metals. Suddenly she felt a tugging on her side. Another warrior was pulling on the bag tied around her hip. It seemed he was attempting to recover stolen goods, and thought they could be located in her bag. She would have let him have it, but it contained her wand.

She brought her heavy shield down sharply on his arm causing him to release the bag. She pulled her wand from it, abandoning the spear.

He switched his spear into his other hand, a look of intense anger spreading across his features.

"Petrificus totalus," she shouted before he could attack, watching as his body stiffened and crashed to the floor.

The Vikings began to retreat, having gathered all the goods they required. They made it to all the way to the grass but then were surrounded by the opposing army.

After a tense few moments, she heard a strange growling noise to her left. When she first noticed it, it sounded fairly far away, but it was becoming louder. She grabbed Ellie's arm beside her.

"What is that?" She whispered, reading the terrified looks on her attacker's faces.

"I don't know," she responded, mystified.

Those at the west end of the battle, closest to the growling, began to scream, running in all directions. The area cleared until she could make out the shape of a gargantuan wolf. The creature had red eyes so bright they almost seemed to glow, and a once-white coat, matted with dirt and leaves. It tore through the warriors, not caring what side they were on.

Suddenly the entire battlefield seemed to become darker, as the creature leaped at Charlotte, momentarily blotting out the sun. She froze in terror, it's gnashing teeth coming ever closer. She shut her eyes, preparing for the worst - but she never felt the impact.

She opened her eyes curiously, then leaped backward. The creature's face was mere inches from her own, red-eyed open wide, like something from a horror movie. It was suspended in midair, along with the opposing army. As she looked around, she saw terrified faces slowly recovering, moving away from their own frozen attackers.

"What the..." she trailed off.

With a shout, the Vikings moved towards their respective longships, stolen goods in hand, making the most of their strange circumstances.

She began to run towards the ship, relieved to have made it through the battle, when suddenly something grabbed her leg. It was a Viking soldier, laying on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his stomach.

"Help me. Please," he groaned.

She shouted frantically for Ellie, who appeared by her side.

"Help me get him to the boat."

11. ZSB2000

"Your lack of sense recalls to me a young Elf of the name Bruinir." The guy who had cut me loose from the Indians and practically dragged me through the forest was now invisible as I sat in the darkness. I could only feel fuzzy objects and the hard, flat floor under my ass. This had been the weirdest weekend of my life – and I had been through some crazy weekends.

"For what reason does one retrieve a necklace whilst running for their life?" the old man said. He sounded old. He reminded me of those wrinkled men in the New Englandtowns who turned their noses up at me. I had a feeling this would be no different. Wait until he finds out what I am. I almost couldn't wait to see the look on his face – or see his face at all for that matter.

Where was I?

"Look, grandpa, I know I'm supposed to be grateful to you for saving my life and all, but honestly, I had it all under control. Thanks, but no thanks. Oh, and you might be surprised what a princess's necklace can do for you in a tight spot." I stood up, grabbing the fuzzy things around me. I was still dizzy from being rushed through the forest in the dark only half-awake.

A strong hand gripped my shoulder. "I have been bound to you in service for the remainder of a tyrant king's game. I will not be dismissed through your insolence and lack of respect. Your life would mean nothing if my daughter's did not rest on it. Be mindful of your words, boy. I am older than your Earth." I winced as the grip tightened and cut off the circulation in my shoulder.

"Yes, sir," I said quickly. To my relief, he removed his hand. If I was going to get anywhere with this guy, I would have to humor him. As much as I hated appeasing old farts with narrow minds, it was the only way I would get home. I wasn't exactly told, but I assumed this was a terrible otherworldly trick and I could only escape by playing along.

You'd think hearing about how he claimed to be older than my world would surprise me, but honestly, I've heard of some dudes that were a couple thousand years old. It wasn't that much of a stretch to say someone was older; especially if they weren't even from my world as he implied.

Being sucked into a different dimension was surprising at first, but everything was mostly similar to my world – albeit a couple hundred years earlier. The real breaking point was realizing it wasn't just a random dimension. I met the Disney Princess, Pocahontas, face-to-face. That almost did me in.

As always, I was excellent at adjusting to my new surroundings. I learned the princess wasn't all rainbows and unicorns anymore. Admittedly, I didn't exactly give them reason to like me. A bit of kleptomania can really throw off relations with people who already think you're a suspicious white guy.

"I am Thurinor, a High Elf of ancient birth. That is all you need know of me," the old fart explained... barely.

"I'm Quinn. Not ancient, but I am a witch with a specialty for amulets." I grunted at the ache in my head and waved my hand in front of my face, trying to see it. I could barely make out its shape. "Where are we?" I asked.

"This wardrobe allows us to travel throughout the worlds. I know not where it will take us."

I snorted, "Maybe we'll go to Narnia."

"We may only discover it if we continue," Thurinor said in complete seriousness. I heard him turn and start to walk away.

"Wait, what? H-hold the phone. I can't see. Dude, seriously what is happening?" I tried to follow the sound of his steps deeper into the never-ending wardrobe. "How does this even wor-... whoa." I had pushed through the fuzziness into a sudden light.

I had to cover my eyes as they adjusted to daylight.

An overcast sky shadowed the gigantic castle that sat overlooking the ocean. Its stone walls jutted into the cliff rocks, becoming one with its terrain. The salt air was cold and jarring, but not as jarring to see three dragons flying above me.

The next thing I knew, I was staring down the length of a spear held by a big man with dark eyes and long, black hair.

"I don't think this is Narnia."

...

Thurinor observed the ancient stonework around him as he and many others were gathered inside a throne room.

The stones were expertly placed for having been built by humans. It was not old by Elven standards, but a rich and bloody history haunted the walls and soaked them with distant memories of Men who no longer live to tell them.

The group surrounding Thurinor was made up mostly of humans, many – if not all – were not from this realm. Few possessed true magic in their veins, and even fewer were of a mature age.

Nonetheless, bare soldiers with long, dark hair and war markings painted over their bodies had rounded up the Unseelie King's victims and brought them before their queen whom they called 'khaleesi'.

It was the second time Thurinor had been taken at spear-point to a powerful female leader.

A wall of stone stretched into a throne, a glittering seat cutout and plated with glittering diamond shaped scales. A small woman with a pretty face and long, white hair stood before it. She wore a dark tunic and a solemn expression.

"I am Daenerys Targeryan, the Mother of Dragons, rightful queen of the Iron Throne, and protector of the Seven Kingdoms. You have come to me with no leader, name, or origin. Your sudden appearance on this island disturbs me. I demand an explanation from one of you who knows best." Her voice echoed throughout the hall, clear and commanding.

Pocahontas may have ruled her people with dignity and resolve, but a true Queen now presented herself to Thurinor. There was more suffering behind her eyes with a wiser spirit and higher birth. A blood magic ran through her, a power, Thurinor deduced, that was connected to the three dragons encircling the island.

Thurinor stepped forward, calling all eyes to him, "I am Thurinor, an ancient being of a distant realm. We have come – or more accurately – were deserted by a demon who calls himself a king. He wields the power to traverse worlds numerous and unknown. Binding us to his service under the threat of our dearest lives, the tyrant spawned us across universes.

"Unbelief is irrelevant. I foresee action on his part to unleash upon this fortress, war. You will not have to believe my words then, for you will have seen it with your own eyes.

"These others before you are strangers to me but for the testimony we share of the Unseelie King's terror. If I speak for them, I say we play his game. It has no rules but the strength of our arms and magic. I say our strength is yours in aiding defense against the common enemy." An emptiness filled the hall.

The Mother of Dragons stepped forward and cast a hardened gaze upon them, "How do I trust your loyalty to me against this creature when he holds your families? When their lives are threatened, how will you resist?"

A weary smile spread across Thurinor's face. "You misunderstand, your majesty. This king wishes not to obtain us," he spoke as his fingers twitched in anger, "His purpose is to play with us."

...

I leaned against the stones as we watched the Vikings sail up to the beach. There was a giant fleet of ships with dragon-heads on their fronts and Scandinavian prints on their sails.

Obviously Vikings.

There was just one problem... this would be too easy. I could be an idiot and still know they had no chance. This giant castle was impenetrable not only by walls, but the warriors around it were hard-core. Not to mention the three dragons. I got to say – that Daenerys chick is badass.

"Hey, how do you think she got to have three dragons?" I asked mister ghost-of-Christmas's-sparkly-ass. "She's a real tough cookie."

He glanced at me briefly before completely ignoring me with a disgusted frown. Queen-y might have been a tough cookie, but Thurinor was a tough nut. That or he was nutty.

She had agreed to help us with the Elf as the 'otherworlders' leader. Just because he puffed out his chest first, he got the job. I swear all these important people are just like peacocks.

The dragons are cool, though. I can roll with dragons.

I yawned just before the first dragon dove toward the Viking ships. He opened his mouth and fire rained down on the susceptible wooden ships. They were just fiery dots along the coast for us observers. The others were preparing to fight, but the Elf insisted I stay with him.

I mean, I appreciate the gesture and everything, but I don't want to stand here and do nothing.

"Welp, I'm getting a better view." I drummed the stone with my hands before passing Thurinor and walking up the way. In reality I didn't want to be under his judgmental stare anymore. That kind of thing can get under your skin.

I wasn't expecting a better view, but somehow I got one. I found a spot where I could see the otherworlders spar in training and watch the Viking ships slowly make it to shore. The few ships to make in unscathed by the dragon fire were the first to make it to the beach.

Daenerys' first wave of Dothraki met them there, pretty much slaughtering them as they stepped out of the boats.

I looked up as the dragons roared above. In the distance I could see a strange figure rising into the air. At first it looked like a winged creature of some sort, but as it neared it began to look like a small winged animal and a man.

They flew up to the dragons and I could tell all eyes were on them. You don't just fly up to a dragon without having something up your sleeve.

The figure began to spin and suddenly let out a loud roar, grabbing the attention of the other dragons.

"I have a bad feeling about this," I muttered under my breath.

It was then the fight really started. The figures somehow used sound to battle the dragons, causing them harm.

I heard a scream from a turret above me where Daenerys shouted angrily in a foreign tongue. This was not good.

One dragon fell to the battlefield, crushing the soldiers below. It wasn't dead, but it was wounded.

As I stared in awe at the wiggling beast, the figure in the sky dropped to the wall just feet away from me. When I got a good look at the pair I realized what we were seeing.

"What the hell? You're fighting dragons with an orange cat?" I exclaimed, "And winning?"

The stranger gripped his wounded side with an amused smile before the winged cat launched them into the air again.

I leaned over the wall to look down at the field. The Vikings had advanced two a second wave of the Dothraki calvary. I got to give these guys some credit. They have chutzpah.

The otherworlders entered the fight, the most skilled and experienced in the front. I suppose that's why I wasn't out there. I wasn't much for fighting with my weakened magical state. I didn't exactly know why that was. It was probably because I was the mutt of wizardry's best and worst; the best being my mother.

An anxiousness wound itself into me, setting my guts abuzz with adrenaline. The fighting was getting intense and I found myself caring about it.

"We're fine. We're the ones with the gigantic castle with three dragons." I paused and licked my lips, "... Two dragons."

I was always bad at giving myself pep-talks.

Even though Thurinor focused on the otherworlders as they fought, he failed to notice the shadow cast on them. I looked up to see the guy with the flying orange cat taking on the second dragon. Daenerys still shouted from the tower, but didn't look down.

If that dragon came down, he would crush everyone. Given the track record, I'd say the chances were pretty good that this bad boy was coming down.

I had to do something about it.

But what could I do? I'm just the short kid with a bad attitude and a sad amount of magic.

"I have a voice, don't I?" I growled to myself as I ran back to Thurinor.

"Hey! Needle ears!" I called.

He whipped his head to me with a scowl, "I beg your pardon?"

"That dragon's coming down on them! They've got to move!" I shouted.

"The possibility of the dragon's trajectory upon our group of..." he was interrupted by the sound of the man and his noise-attacks.

"Murphy's law, my dude!" I slapped him on his back as I ran passed and into the castle.

I raced down the stairs and weaved my way between the soldiers and through a back door. I didn't think about it, I just let my instincts guide me.

I almost immediately regretted going out there as I sprinted toward the fighting. I had no weapon.

Time to muster up some magic.

"Hey, Vikings!" I yelled at the top of my lungs as I summoned fire into the palm of my hand, "Eat this!" I leaped into the air and pitched a fireball into the middle of a group of Vikings. It exploded, throwing them all back.

I had everyone's attention.

"The dragon is coming down! Clear out!" I waved at the dragon above us. As soon as they looked up, everyone booked it; Vikings and all.

I was about to follow when I noticed a solitary figure in blue collapse to the ground. When they tried to get up, I noticed it was a girl with long brown hair and her leg was hurt.

An enormous roar came from above as the dragon began to fall. She wouldn't make it with that leg!

"Quinn, you'll get yourself killed," I muttered to myself as I ran as fast as my legs could carry me.

When she saw me, her eyes widened and she shifted into a defensive position.

She's insane!

"Run!" I hollered. She finally looked up to see the falling beast.

There's no time. It's on us already.

"Get down!"

...

"Where has the boy run off to?" Thurinor grumbled as he oversaw the battle from the protective walls of the castle.

A dragon slayer had risen from the hoard of seamen. Thurinor heard the cries of the Queen as one plummeted to the earth. If the dragons continued to fall, the fight would remain in their favor but for the otherworlders on the side of the brutes. The powers of the strangers from foreign domains were unpredictable – a threat to the victory ofDragonstone Castle.

But it seemed the dragons could be used against them. When a beast collapsed, so did the many underneath it.

For some inexplicable reason, the witch boy had foreseen the fall of the second dragon upon a collection of otherworlder warriors on the field. In their fight they did not see.

Thurinor perceived through process of elimination that the boy had disobeyed him and left the castle walls to warn them.

"Look!" someone shouted from the wall, drawing attention to a head of gold hair flying like the wind across the field.

Indeed, Quinn Claire was doomed in his quest with no weapon or defense. Suddenly a fire appeared in his hands and was thrown into the enemy. The display turned the surrounding warriors to the defeated dragon in the sky.

All scattered from the dark shadow cast upon the earth but for Quinn. The fool stood agape before lunging himself in the direction of a wounded girl.

If Thurinor wasn't surprisingly pleased with the boy's selflessness, he was irate with his lack of brains.

The boy rammed into the poor girl as the dragon's body came over them and obstructed Thurinor's sights.

He appointed the second in command to take his place as he donned the armor of the Dothraki. It consisted mostly of leather and iron plates with poor craftsmanship. However, it served its purpose, and Thurinor restrained his negative remarks. He was given a sturdy scimitar and mounted a horse.

He maneuvered the creature through the battle lines, defending himself with his sword as he went.

A man with blood splattered on his face charge Thurinor with an axe, but he was not fast enough to see the Elf's swift blade. His decapitated head flew into the air and rolled onto the grass.

Thurinor dispatched many others with cold eyes and an emotionless face. Even when he witnessed the brutal death of man's heart wrenched out of his chest, the Elf unblinkingly rode on.

Thurinor rounded the great dragon, alive but injured, to the place he last saw the boy.

The horse pulled up beside the dragon's wing. Thurinor dismounted and went to the two bodies that lay half-hidden under the wing.

With all his might he lifted it and pulled them out from under the leathery mass. He carefully rolled Quinn off from the girl's body. He was entirely broken but for the last breath left in him.

"You were a fool, Quinn Claire," Thurinor lectured with a frown before it relaxed in sympathy, "But you are also a hero."

The girl was broken as well, but not as broken as she would have been. The boy had saved her life.

"Just tell mom... she can finally be proud of me... for something," Quinn sputtered as each dwindling breath caused waves of pain. It was not long before he gave out with his final wish on Thurinor's shoulders.

Thurinor draped the body over the back of the horse and took the unconscious girl in his arms. He rode back to the castle with the victorious Dothraki, and the brutish prisoners.

12. OliviaBinfield

The longboats loomed ever closer, great monstrous beasts rising up from the depths of the sea. Vikings.

Carron shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. Though saying that, the north was much colder than where he'd grown up, the Stormlands. It was both comforting and terrifying to be so far away.

The sea churned, a foul beast that Carron was growing to hate with every passing day. It was wild and unpredictable, tossing and turning. Yet those boats seemed undaunted by the demon that was the sea. They were long, dark rowan wood melded together to create a dragon of the sea. A dragon of wood and iron and steel, but a dragon nonetheless. Round shields decorated her sides, and oars tugged relentlessly against the tide. A huge sail billowed in the wind.

It was a sight to behold.

The ships were advancing steadily, pouring in from every direction towards Widow's Watch. You could almost smell the tension in the air, the nervous energy. Restlessness was running rife, and all the men of House Flint here were itching for a fight. Isra stood beside him, ready. Waiting.

Carron sucked in a breath, his fingers tightening around the bowstrings. The ships were within range. Now he only needed to wait for one word.

A Flint commander was the one who barked out the command, his dark brown eyes scrunched together in focus, in anticipation. There is only one way forward now. Losing was not an option.

The word sailed over the troops stationed on the towers, one word to trigger the release of string, the twang of twine and a myriad of arrows sailing through the air, landing with a thump into sacks of human flesh, bouncing off of steel helmets.

That one word, a promise of death for so many.

Fire.

The battle had begun.

He pulled back his bowstring again, aiming for the shapeless grey lumps aboard the vessels. Archery had always been easier in a way, from such a distance you couldn't hear their screams properly. You didn't have to watch as the life left their eyes. There was no intimacy. No fear, no guilt. But then again, you didn't get that same exhilaration that you got with a sword.

Archery was different, there was that sense of detachment and falsity. It didn't feel like killing, it didn't feel like killing at all.

Carron felt his heart beating fast in his chest with every second that ticked by, watching as those ships crept even closer. Widow's Watch was hardly a great castle, and that fact had never been more true. The castle felt so sad and alone, the only thing standing in the way of these invaders, these vikings.

There would be no back up troops, no army to save them. The only people standing against the rising tide of darkness was him and the band of Flint soldiers.

He could hear screaming now, a cacophony of shrieks and howls. Some were screeches of pure agony, some were screams of joy.

There was something inhuman, mechanical about the readiness with which he fired, one arrow there. One arrow gone. One life there. One life gone. Death was so swift, never missing a beat. With every arrow that made its' mark, death fed once more.

Carron exhaled, his breath freezing mid-air, shifting into a cloud of white frost. The enemy neared. The sun sank lower and lower into the sky.

The calm before the storm.

The wind picked up again, a sharp tang slicing through the evening air.

And the first viking arrow embedded itself in a soldier's eye.

The soldier turned towards him, mouth parted as if to scream, a single arrow deep in her eye socket, blood trickling down half of her face. An animalistic gurgle came out of her throat, long black hair swaying in the breeze.

She looked like a living ghost, that ethereal quality possessing her completely. Her hand was outstretched towards him, as if Carron could somehow save her.

He dove to the floor, fingers fumbling for his sword as the next row of arrows rained down upon them. More screams pierced the air and the bodies began to fall.

The vikings swarmed on the beach. Boots thumping against sand, the cheers of an army landing on their shores. Carron cursed, racing towards the sides of the castle.

The army had landed, a herd of wolf-skinned men and axe-wielding madmen, a vicious delight portrayed on each of their faces.

There was no time. No time to dwell on the invasion, no time for fear or panic. There was only room for determination. The only thing he could do was to fight, to fight and fight until there was nothing left.

Vaulting down the stairs, Carron gripped his sword so tightly he almost thought that he'd never be able to let go. The drab stone grey of the castle was now flecked with with the crimson red of the archer's blood, the flag portraying the coat of arms trampled and torn by a metal arrowhead. Yellow chief with blue eyes beseeching him for his sins, for the blood on his hands. A blue sea folded below those azure eyes, white markings dancing in them. Those eyes. His judgement lay in those eyes, his past and whatever little remained of his future.

The commander from before was there, eye glued onto the doors of the castle. The doors shuddered and groaned, on the verge of breaking. The flint soldiers shook with it, fear a thick cloud hanging over their heads.

"Soldiers!" The commander barked, "Discard your fear. Discard everything else apart from your strength and your loyalty. The vikings are nothing but barbaric scum, and we will prevail."

The door shook with every word, so close to splintering.

"We will win this battle. We will win every battle. We will beat them back, so long as you stand with me. Pick up your swords, pick up your weapons. We are all that stands between the invaders and Westeros, we are all that is left."

There was a sound like thunder, the sound of hope breaking and courage standing strong.

"We are House Flint, Ever Vigilant! Do your House proud!"

The soldier screamed their house words, almost drowning out the sound of the door giving up and letting the flood of vikings rush in. One of the flint soldiers was still crowing his house words when an axe sliced through his neck, the pale white bone glinting in the dying sunlight.

Carron did not wait, he did not pause to think or feel. His grip tightened around his sword, and he plunged into the midst of the battle.

There was one with a wolf-skin, one armed with axes, another with swords, all of them worked up into some kind of battle frenzy. Shields and smooth helmets, iron and steel with intricate metal designs flowing into the castle.

His sword sliced through the air, digging into flesh and bone. Metal cut through skin so easily. It was almost beautiful, in a strange way. The viking let out a groan, and Carron glimpsed intestines and muscle glaring up at him for a second before he crumpled, and his blade came up coated in a sheen of scarlet blood. The dance of death was a new one to him, but it had a sense of thrill like no other.

His sword cleaved through the sunlight, slicing clean through a neck. He gave a slight smile, looking at the pulsing veins, the sudden spurt of blood. Anger grew within him like fire, raging and furious. He lashed out at another, but this one only grinned. A manic demon, the wild delight that glowed within that one's eyes was almost frightening.

The blood that raced down his shoulder didn't seem to bother him at all, instead he let out a mad laugh, drawing his own broadsword. Carron offered his own grin.

And the dance continued.

The other warrior lunged first, spinning his sword in a whirlwind of danger, laughing as he did.

Carron ducked, sidestepping to avoid whatever insanity had gripped the warrior. His method of attack was different to anything he'd encountered before, undisciplined and wild. As if he'd chosen to let loose and all that pent up energy exploded into whatever he was.

Carron lashed out, his sword clanging against the others', slicing one way and then the other. Their fighting followed a rhythm, a pattern of sorts. The fighting faded away around them, the shrieks and grunts nothing more than background music, the blood and tears a mere backdrop.

Carron paused, before lashing out once more, aiming for the throbbing red artery in his neck and then-

The floor came rushing up to meet him, cold and unforgiving. Pain rocketed up his spine,and he flipped round, searching for his sword, a panic seizing hold of his chest. A discarded lion fur coat lay say the side, and he instinctively grabbed onto it, then cursed himself for being so stupid. He needed to protect himself, needed to find his sword, needed to do so many things.

I can't die, I can't die, I can't die.

The world swam round and round his head, a pure desperation crawling inside his mind and he looked up at that leering face above him. The sword cleaved through the air.

I can't die, not like this.

It bounced harmlessly off the fur, and the Viking let out a snarl before lifting his sword to swing again, and this time they both knew that he would not make it out on his own.

I can't die.

An arrow suddenly landed in his wrist, going straight through and getting stuck through on the other end. The sword clattered to the floor, a harsh sound that threatened to burst his eardrums.

The Viking screamed, blood pouring from his wrist. It spouted like a waterfall, or as if it was the source of some wild river.

His mentor, Isra, stood there, crossbow in hand, golden eyes gleaming. Her demon mark. She tipped her head in his direction, before disappearing back into the fray, magic sparking to life from her fingertips.

Carron wrapped his fingers around his sword, and marched towards the warrior. The warrior who had almost killed him.

Rage flickered within him, and Carron unslung his bow from his shoulders.

He shot an arrow clean through the leg, pinning him to the floor. His blood mixed with others on this slowly diminishing battlefield.

The lion skin meant that weapons glanced harmlessly off of him, that nothing truly bothered him. Now he truly was in another world. Another fight.

He let the arrows fly.

Another arrow pierced the soldier's other wrist. Then, the other leg. The Viking was howling now, staring down at his wounds as if he expected them to heal.

Carron gripped his sword, ever so carefully slicing open his chest cavity. The muscle was hard to hack through, hindering his effort, but he managed. He could hear the heart beating beneath, the organs within him working steadily in their own little world. Carron felt a sense of detachment, wrath and a strange delight.

It felt freeing to watch someone writhe in pain and know it was because of you.

The warrior was twitching, spasms overtaking his body. It wouldn't be long before he bled to death. It would be slow and excruciatingly painful.

Carron brought down his sword, again and again, destroying organs and making wounds and cutting skin and doing anything anything to inflict pain.

It was only when the light left his eyes and the warrior was gone that Carron continued the fight, the onslaught no longer bothering him.

He just continued on and on, killing and maiming and slaughtering. Carron's hands were coated in a crimson sheen, his sword dyed slightly red and bits of flesh sticking to it.

He did not care for his opponents anymore. He got no more joy from their deaths. The pitiful amount of guilt that slept within before was gone.

He fought and fought, desperate to survive. The faces of those he killed changed and morphed, becoming ghosts of his past, faces that he wished he would never see again.

Carron only stopped when there was nothing left that moved.

The battleground was a sea of corpses, the castle damaged but not irreparably. A few ships had left, taking whatever stragglers had survived.

They had won; Widow's Watch was safe. But strangely, Carron felt no satisfaction. He felt nothing, as if he was made of glass or plastic, and all his emotions were false and half-conjured.

This had been the first battle he'd truly fought, and now he felt worse than he had to start with. As if he had lost something in the fighting, though he didn't quite know what.

"You did well," Isra murmured, golden eyes staring at him appraisingly. Carron merely nodded and turned to go.

Then he noticed something: a girl who was coughing, blood pooling from a wound in her shoulder. Lying there amongst the dead, eyes snagging onto his.

He could see in her eyes that he was asking for her to help him. A viking girl.

In that moment, he made an irrational decision.

He walked forward, looked at the girl for a few moments.

Then Carron bent down and offered her his hand.

13. jaypvie

Denji reread the paper in his hand, his mind clouded with fury. 'I see a fire within you that can win in these games. You have my support. Do not disappoint me. Fire Lord Ozai.'

The girl — Jasmine — looked at the lights flashing around the vehicle. She shook her head. "So you're basically saying the world is in danger because of some mad people with too much power?"

Denji nodded, snapping back to reality. "Multiple worlds, if I understood Ozai correctly, but yes."

She groaned, rubbing her head. "Not again."

The Hogwarts Express, as she called the machine, jerked to a stop. She peeked through the window. "Where are we?"

"Not sure," Denji muttered. "Looks like some kind of fortress." He stepped outside, surveying the surroundings. They were in a yard surrounded by high stone walls. He heard Jasmine following him.

A tall, imposing man with white hair greeted them, extending his hand. He was well-dressed, although his clothes were not adorned with the jewels and golden embroidery Denji had seen some nobles wear. This was a man so rich that he didn't need to flaunt his riches. "You're late. Denji, I presume?"

The bender nodded, cautiosly accepting the stranger's hand. His grip was firm, and Denji felt him trying to turn their hands so that his would be on top — establishing his superiority. He resisted. Ozai has mocked me enough. This man will not do the same. There was a brief moment of unspoken tension before Denji pulled his hand away. "What am I expected to do now?"

"To aid me, naturally," the stranger said, his voice deceptively calm. "I understand you're a skilled strategist. Is this correct?"

"Some appear to think so."

"Well, hopefully they're right. I am needed elsewhere, but my castle is currently being invaded by some savage seafarers. A man named Ozai said you and some others will take care of the siege. I expect you'll defend this hold. The men at your disposal are gathered in the entrance hall."

The man turned to leave, but Jasmine called out. "You could at least tell us your name, you know." She raised a challenging eyebrow at him, ignoring the warning look Denji shot her.

The stranger froze for a moment, still half-turned. His eyes could have burned holes through the girl, but his tone didn't change. "Lord Tywin of the House of Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, the very castle you're standing in, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West. Does that sate your curiosity, girl?"

Jasmine opened her mouth to reply, but Denji cut her off. "Yes, thank you, milord." As soon as Tywin left, he turned to Jasmine. "Do you want to get us executed?" he hissed.

She shrugged. "I could've just Stupefied him or something. He wouldn't know what hit him."

"You could've what? No, don't answer that," Denji sighed. "Let's just get this over with." He headed inside.

***

Jasmine surveyed the entrance hall, her eyes flitting across people's faces. There were a dozen men in red cloaks — the guard commanders, apparently — and half as many people with red armor and weird helmets with skull-like visors. Denji seemed reluctant to work with them. She wondered if they were those fire-people he'd mentioned earlier.

However, the others in the room looked more interesting. There was an Asian woman, standing beside a young man — perhaps a few years older than Jasmine — whose features reminded her of someone, although she couldn't quite place it. A bit further off, a dark-skinned woman stood alongside a girl around Jasmine's age. The girl was one of the strangest people Jasmine had ever seen. Her hair and eyes were silver, and she had a purple tattoo on her side, visible beneath her tank top. There was something about the way the two older women stood beside their companions, warily eyeing the others in the room...

"Are you tributes as well?" Jasmine asked, her eyes shifting between the young man and the girl. "You are, aren't you? And these are your mentors."

"That's right," the girl said, smiling. "I'm Naolia. What's your name?"

"Jasmine." She glanced at the man. "You?"

"Me? I'm... uh, I'm Ryder." He smiled, bowing slightly. "And delighted to meet you ladies, of course."

"Riiight." Jasmine smiled. "Are we supposed to do this together, or what?"

"I would think so, yes," the Asian woman said sharply. "We were all told to strategize and defend the castle, so presumably we're allies for the time being." She stressed the last part of the sentence.

"Right. For now. Of course," Jasmine muttered. "So, what are our chances?"

"I don't even know why we're here, to be honest," the other woman said. "The castle's defenses are exceptionally good. It's basically impenetrable."

"Not quite." The voice came from the other end of the hall. A disfigured dwarf leaned against the wall, looking at them.

Denji turned. "And who might you be?"

"Tyrion Lannister. I believe you've met my father. Can't say I'm surprised he wasted no breath to introduce me." Tyrion waddled toward them, carefully examining their faces. "Though it isodd that he's entrusting the precious family hold to a bunch of misfits like you. Then again, he'll have to leave it to me someday, so maybe he's practicing."

"What did you mean when you said it wasn't impenetrable?" the dark-skinned woman inquired.

"Oh, Casterly Rock may look strong, but it'd do better to call itself Casterly Anthill." Tyrion climbed on a chair to examine the plans Denji had spread out on a nearby table. "The lower parts are full of abandoned tunnels. Most are unguarded, and generally unknown to anyone. But to someone with the right information..." He glanced up. "Casterly Rock is easier to get in than a whore's bed. If you found your way here, then so can others."

"Where are the tunnels?" Denji leaned over the map.

***

Jasmine was atop the walls, watching the ships as they approached. Naolia stood beside her, fiddling with her hair. Three of the fire-people — benders, she corrected herself — were a bit further off. The other three benders were with Denji, somewhere beneath the fortress, and the guards had been evenly distributed along the walls.

"We'll have to fight each other soon, won't we?" the other girl muttered. "I mean, this alliance... it's only temporary. We'll need to fight to the death later." Her voice quivered a little.

"I won't fight you if you don't fight me," Jasmine offered, squinting at the ships in the light of the setting sun. "I'd rather not hurt anyone, of course. I'd just... knock them out or something. But if I have to fight you, I won't be the first to attack, that's for sure."

She glanced at Naolia, who gave her a small smile. "Neither will I." They shook hands.

***

Tyrion had been right. The castle was standing upon an anthill of abandoned mining tunnels, long devoid of gold. Denji could barely sense the miles of hallways carved into the stone. He hoped his estimations of the way the fortress was built were correct, or his plan would make the whole place fall apart around them.

Further down the hall, he heard footsteps and hushed voices. He signaled at the benders behind him to extinguish the flames they held and pressed himself against the wall. Torchlight was already visible around a bend in the hall.

He waited for the invaders to round the corner. The newcomers were tall, tatooed men dressed in furs and leather. Not giving them time to react, Denji drew the blade he'd found in the armory and slashed across their leader's chest. The man fell, but another took his place, and his sword met Denji's with a dull clang. Denji pushed against his opponent's weapon, forcing him to a momentary standstill, and kicked the ground lightly, causing stone pikes to protrude from the floor and pierce the invader.

The movements he was taught in the army returned quickly, as if he hadn't spent the last few weeks before his capture recovering from a wound in his leg. Steel sang on steel as he parried his next opponent's blows, sliding smoothly from one stance into another, just like he'd done so many times before. The sword in his hand and the stone around him were extensions of his body, responding to his every thought as he danced among the shadows torchlight cast on the tunnel walls.

The other warrior lowered his guard for a moment, and Denji took the chance, stabbing the man's side with practiced ease before pulling back to pierce his heart. His eyes glassed over as he slid off the blade, hitting the floor with a soft thud. They stared lifelessly through the tunnel's ceiling, blue as the sky they would never see again.

Denji had seen that look before, on faces familiar and foreign, far too many times.

It was easy to forget himself when he fought. His muscles knew what they were doing, so for once, his mind didn't have to. He could imagine he was back at the training grounds, armed with a blunt sword. He could believe that the defeated opponent would rise in the next moment, with bruised ribs and bruised pride as his worst injuries. He could even ignore the smell of blood because of how accustomed he was to it.

But there was always that moment of realization, when he remembered what he was doing, but couldn't yet recall why. For Sindan. For Lee. For a promise to keep. But wouldn't they release me from that promise if they knew what it entailed?

Denji swallowed the bile rising in his throat before turning back to the firebenders. They'd defeated the rest of the invaders; the hall was littered with charred bodies. "Good work," he said, his voice hoarse. "This is the spot we were looking for. Stand back now."

He closed his eyes. The smell of burnt flesh pervaded his senses, along with the coppery scent of blood, but he forced himself to focus on the stone surrounding him. It was a good place for what he had in mind; the weight of the hill above was evenly distributed along that section of the hall, so the structure would remain in place even if part of the support was taken away.

He pulled rocks from the ceiling with his bending, making them block the tunnel in front of him completely. No one would enter Casterly Rock through there again.

"C'mon," he said. "We've got other tunnels to block."

***

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The ladder rose into the air, a few of the invaders still holding onto it. Jasmine flicked her wand, sending them down into the attacking horde, before setting the ladder on fire.

It was almost too easy. The hill the fortress stood on was difficult to climb, and the archers had no trouble shooting the invading fighters below. The few that did make it to the wall were no match for her and Naolia. The electricity mage was just as efficient as Jasmine's spells, if not more, zapping the attackers before they even realized they were in danger.

The air beside her shifted, two people appearing out of nowhere. No, not just appearing — Apparating. Jasmine readied her wand, suddenly nervous. Deatheaters? Here? One of the figures looked up, and she saw familiar brown eyes widening in surprise as they took her in.

"Charlotte," she breathed, shock freezing her in place. The Ravenclaw girl who snuck back into Hogwarts during the battle, despite being underage. The girl I owe my life to.

Behind Charlotte, Jasmine could see Naolia whirling around, eyes alight with electricity. She saw her extend her arm, saw lightning crackling with energy as it made its way toward the other witch.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

She was barely aware that the voice was her own. Naolia's body stiffened, her arms and legs bound by the jinx, her face a mask of shock and betrayal.

The girl at Charlotte's side turned to Naolia, flames springing to life at her fingertips and forming a ball. Before Jasmine could react, the fireball connected with Naolia's helpless form, making her clothes flare up. The sharp odor of burnt flesh, hair and cloth filled the air, making Jasmine's eyes water. Her ally's silver eyes filled with tears of pain. She couldn't even scream.

The firebending girl turned back to Jasmine, still enveloped in flames.

"No," Charlotte said firmly. "Let her go, Adara. She saved my life."

Adara glared, but said nothing. Instead, she turned to the guards, who had just recovered from the shock at the new enemies' sudden appearance.

Jasmine clutched the wand in her hand, her mind blank. Adara was preparing to launch another attack. Just like the one that killed Naolia.

Blind with rage, Jasmine hurled herself at the firebender just as the flames were unleashed, pushing her over the parapet. A look of surprise flashed across the girl's face as she fell to her death on the unforgiving rocks below, and Jasmine clung onto the wall to stop the momentum from taking her down as well.

She turned back to Charlotte, her vision blurred by tears. "Go," she choked out, trying to blink them back. "Leave the castle. I'll — I'll fight you if I have to. I don't want to, but I will. Just leave!"

Charlotte opened her mouth, as if to say something, and then thought better of it. Air shifted around her, and she Disapparated.

***

Denji slumped to the ground after sealing the last tunnel, his breathing ragged and heavy. His leg was beginning to ache again, and he'd gotten several gashes on his arms and torso. Thankfully, they weren't deep, and improvised bandages from some tablecloths he'd found in the kitchens were enough to stop the bleeding.

The kitchens had been empty. Oddly enough, so was the rest of the castle; the only people he'd seen inside were the defenders — guards, firebenders and tributes with their mentors. And Tyrion Lannister, he reminded himself. The dwarf may have been physically weak, but his mind was sharper than most blades Denji had ever seen.

Nessa Shade, that Ryder boy's mentor, came running down the hall. She stopped right in front of him, catching her breath.

"There's trouble at the western wall," she said. "A group of the attackers fought their way onto the battlements."

Denji's breath hitched in his throat. "Jasmine," he whispered. He stood up, steadying himself against the wall. "Let's go."

***

Jasmine curled up against the wall, her eyes closed, hands on her ears. She tried to focus on her breathing, and failed.

I killed Adara. I caused Naolia's death.

This isn't me.

She reached blindly for the locket around her neck, clutching it like a lifeline.

This isn't me. This isn't me. This isn't me...

***

Denji and Nessa raced to the battlements, only to find them swarmed by soldiers of both sides. Nessa unleashed a wave of energy from her hands, causing the air to ripple with silent force. The fighters fell to their knees. The firebenders that followed the two quickly took out the closest enemies, forcing the rest of their forces back.

A figure was curled up on the ground, shaking with silent sobs. Two firebenders stood by her sides, protecting her. The third was on the ground, motionless.

Relief washed over Denji. "Jasmine," he said, kneeling down beside her. "It's me. Okay? It's..."

The girl looked up, and he flinched. Her face rippled and shifted, her features reshaping themselves, her eyes changing colors. Her hair, brown in one moment, was suddenly streaked with red and white in the next. However, her expression never changed. It reflected shock. Fear. Regret.

After a moment, the changes stopped, leaving the girl with a face Denji recognized. "Naolia?" he said, his eyes widening.

The girl blinked in surprise. She reached up to touch her tear-streaked face, then held a strand of her silver hair up in front of her eyes. Her hand went to the locket around her neck and she opened it, looked inside briefly, and then closed her eyes with a look of deep concentration.

Her face rippled again, settling back on the brown hair and delicate features of Denji's tribute. "I'm... I'm sorry," she said shakily. "It's just... it gets out of control... sometimes." Her big brown eyes, still brimming with tears, bored into Denji's. "Naolia is... she's... dead. Because of me."

Denji patted her back, unsure of what to say. "People die in battles. You shouldn't blame yourself for that, even if you did make some mistake."

Jasmine shook her head. "It's my fault. I — I put a body bind on her in the middle of a fight. She was attacking someone I know, and I just — I just wasn't thinking..."

"Jasmine." Denji put his hands on her shoulders. "This is war. Not the battle for the castle — these games we're in, that's a war between us and everyone else. Sooner or later, Naolia would become your enemy. Everyone else will. And I need you to be strong, okay? My family's lives depend on this. I need you to win."

Jasmine wiped her eyes and nodded. "I'll t-try to remember that." She stood up, brushing herself off and picking up her wand. "We've... we've got a battle to fight, don't we?"

***

It was almost midnight when the battle ended. The invaders returned to their ships, and the surviving defenders gathered in the entrance hall once again.

They were tired and wounded. Nessa was limping, and Ryder had a gash across his cheek. Naolia's mentor, Sage, was nowhere to be seen. The guards' armor was bloodstained to the point where it rivaled the color of their capes.

Tyrion had found a supply of wildfire — some sort of explosive liquid — stashed away in the kitchen, by the empty fireplace. His father's backup plan, he'd guessed. If the tributes hadn't saved the castle, it would go up in flames.

They'd also found an unconscious man among the dead bodies. His clothes were tattered and torn, but it was clear he was neither a guard nor an invader. Denji had used a strand of glowing golden hair to mend some of his wounds, although the deep cut in his shoulder would have to heal naturally.

Jasmine sat by the window, looking at the sea. It shimmered peacefully underneath the stars, unaware of the carnage that had happened so close to it. She turned to Denji, who stood behind her, leaning on an improvised walking stick.

"You said earlier that I needed to win this."

He nodded, his expression unreadable.

"Do you think we can actually win? And I don't think against the other tributes."

He shook his head. "Ozai and the others are too strong for us. All we can do is hope they'll eventually leave us alone."

"Will they?"

"No."

"Then why are we fighting, if there's no hope?"

He thought for a moment. "Because we have to. If we didn't, we wouldn't be ourselves. At least I wouldn't."

Jasmine fell silent. After a minute or so, she spoke again.

"You know, that is a pretty good reason."

14. D-Willy45

I explained the situation to him straight, no tricks or games. I told him that evil and powerful people are holding the both of us captive so that we play their game. I told him where he fit into all of this and where I do as well. He didn't give a fit of rage or fight back, he just shook his head. He looks exhausted, like he is about to collapse. He is led to an inn nearby where he immediately falls on the bed. I watch him sleep while I sip tea. The snowman is still following us, right now he sits beside me. He watches my tea with a face that can only be interpreted as concerned.

"So um. Thank you. For saving us I mean. For saving Remus."

Ah. So that's his name."

I force myself to smile. I as well, am tired and don't feel like talking. For days I slept on hard rock; I can use a good bed right now. For now though all I want is a cup of tea and a bath. I look to the snowman at my side, it is so weird talking to an inanimate object.

"I do this for my family. This situation is my fault. Saving you two was only a side product of my redemption." He seems to ponder this for a moment. Then he hands me a brown leather bag.

"Here, in this bag is the only thing he can call his own or at least what I know of."

Inside is a black cloth which is neatly folded. Dark red collars the trims like blood in the night. Closing the bag I put it aside. It is his, not mine and I have no right to look at it. There is so much I don't know about this kid, so many questions. Perhaps when he wakes up I can ask him some questions.

I stand up and make my way out the room; I could use a cleaning. I then pause just in front of the door and turn around.

"Thank you. He cares about you, I can see it."

"Ya I know. My name is Greg just so you know." Greg looks away from me sheepishly.

"Now I must go and wash myself, I feel like a badger-mole."

I take my time in the public baths before getting out and drying myself. Getting back, no time is wasted putting clothes and getting some sleep. The bed feels so nice on my old bones it takes only seconds to black out..

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My sleep is rudely interrupted by someone knocking at the door. The sun beams into my eyes when I open them. My body aches from head to toe but I am sure it will pass with the morning. The person outside the door comes in without a word. It is a man around my age, he is dressed in formal robes and holds a scroll in his hands.

"I am sorry for the intrusion miss." He says with a smile. "But I have a delivery for you from the Fire Lord."

He places the scroll at his feet and walks out. Begrudgingly I brush off the blankets and walk over and open it.

Dear Lin.

I have spoken to my partners and we have a new opportunity for you. A kingdom from a far away land is in need of your help. You are to assist them in repelling the invading barbarians. These people are friends of ours so please do not disappoint. I also want you to take the boy, you could use his particular talents.

Sincerely Ozai.

I take a deep breath to gain my composure. I agreed to this, I can't be to mad at him right now. I knew what I was getting into. My hair gets fixed into a rough braid. Then I get dressed into something more suited for work and go to Remus's room. I open the door after knocking to find Remus sitting on his bed, by the looks of him he has already bathed and gotten ready for the day. He is wearing the clothes inside the bag which represent the clothes of the air nomads; before they were wiped out of course. A difference I do see is from his left shoulder to his right hip is a sash. It's dark red color goes well with the mostly black uniform. In the middle of the chest, right at his sternum is the design of a black sideways eye. His hair is clean with the sparkle of water mixed in. It is pulled in a ponytail in the back of his head. On his forehead is a black bandana with the symbol of fire in red.

"Hello Lin." He says straightfaced.

"Hello Remus."

How am I supposed to explain this to him.

"I have received a message from the Fire Lord."

"Ozai." He interrupts. "You mean Ozai. You don't have to be formal with me." I swallow nervously.

"Ozai has send me a message telling us that we need to go. There is a place that needs our help."

"Yeah no, that's not happening. Sorry Lin but but no one controls me." He stands up and lights up his arms. "I've got my own quest and I will go through anyone who gets in my way; even you."

To be honest, I saw this coming. From the way he fought back at the garage I knew he would buck. So much mystery surrounds Remus; I can see it in his eyes. He says he has a mission but what is it exactly?

"I understand if you do not want to go but I am afraid you have no choice. I also have a mission, to free my family. The only way to do that is to play Ozai's game. Right now that game is to do whatever Ozi says.. So yes Remus, if you want to leave you will have to go through me. You will also have to go through the whole fire nation. Please Remus, whatever your mission is it does you no good if you are dead."

He seems to ponder this for a while. Then just as I think he will lower his guard more flames burst from his arms.

"No! My mission cannot wait! If l die playing these games of your's then I cannot-" He cuts himself off before finishing.

His jaw tightens and his fists clench. Then looking down he calms down. I walk up to him slowly and place my hand on his shoulder. We go to the a blacksmith and pick a weapon for Remus then hop on the train. It happens like it did the last time with the bright flash and all.

*************************************************************************************************************

Hello, my name is Remus. Many who know me just think me a prize, or a disappointment. For the better part of my life I have been in captivity. Right now though I don't know what I am. Something inside of me knows that getting out is the best option and there is no living through this. But for some reason I stay, I serve one more time. Is it for Lin, me, the fire nation? Right now it doesn't matter to me, there is no going back until we get our mission done. Maybe afterwards I can escape.

After we step onto the train the world disappears with a bright flash. We appear inside a fort with buildings giving us just enough room the get out. After my feet hit the floor our vehicle discapiers. People around us start to run away screaming. Nearby soldiers circle us with weapons drawn. Then a man in chainmail armor walks towards us. His old face wears many wrinkles of stress. Over his mail is another layer of armor that looks like dragon scales.

"Hello Lin. I am Lord Brynden Tully and welcome to the three walled kingdom of Riverrun. Unfortunately I have much on my mind so I will have to take my leave. I am planning a war with some very powerful people. There is a meeting inside that church over there if you want to be filled in."

We are led to a large building and into the sanctuary. Hundreds of men are standing in uniform lines while a man in the front of the room talks. His presents demands attention as he paces back and forth and I hate it. I have seen men like that, ones who act tough but complain and stomp their feet when they don't get their way. They are pathetic and deserve no respect as they hide behind their men. I stand in the corner of the room and listen. He talks about where the onagers are placed and who is going to disable them. I begin to fall asleep after he finishes talking about the wall defences and the murder holes. Then I start to dream.

A picture of a happy family falls into my hands. A man and a woman smile while being surrounded by five kids of varying age; the woman also has a child in her arms. Two boys in the front hold each others shoulders with one hand and fist pumps with the other. My chest start to feel warm, I feel at home. Voices start whispering in my head like pixies.

I love you honey, my pumpkin! I am so proud of you, you know that right?

A woman's voice says. Then a man's.

You are going to become a strong young man. I am so proud of you, you know that right?

I grip the frame in my hands tighter, my heart aches. A tear rolls down my face. Then blood falls from the sky and onto the picture. It runs like a river and in no time at all covers the picture itself. I look around and find myself in a small wooden cabin. My eyes look up, scared of what I might find. A woman hangs from a ceiling of blood. The woman's face is pale and lifeless. Her neck has been sliced open, the wound seeps dark red liquid. People start crawling out of the ceiling with haist.

You monster! How could you do this to us! You disgrace, failure, animal!

You are an abomination. You are a parasite, a Disease!

The people on the ceiling grab at me inhumanly. Then from below me six pairs of hands burst from the floor. Six men grab at my feet, my ankles one lurches upward and grabs my hair. One grabs my calfs and pull me down to my knees. Then their voices sound in brain.

You are my slave, my toy. You will do as I say!

You are a noisy one aren't you! Stop screaming!

No one will ever love you! Not her, not him, not even them!

Shut up would you! Here, this will shut you up!

Why don't you bend at me?! Now look what you did!

I place my hands on the floor and try to stand but another pair of hands grab my arm and pull me down. The floor turns into quicksand, I slowly sink. Then when my face is just inches from the floor another head emerges. His head is wrinkled from age, his hair thin and unkempt. His hair is split down the middle by a bald spot, his smile reveals his crooked teeth.

"N-no." I choke.

Yes! Young boy, come here! Close your eyes and do not move! Don't fight me, it will all be over soon!

I wake up with a flash. Lin is by my side with her hand on my shoulder. The meeting is over and the building is empty. I am covered in a cold sweat, my heart pounds hard in my chest. This is the first time I've had a dream like that. I don't show it but I am terrified.

"Are you ok Remus? You seemed stressed."

"Yeah, just a dream. Are they done?"

"Yes. Come with me and I will fill you in."

Outside people run around frantically, screaming comes from all around. At the front gate a multitude of men are assembling in full armor. Some shout battle cries and some whisper to their comrades. The front wall is being pounded by rocks, some parts are already destroyed. Archers are on top of the walls firing arrows down on their enemy. Lin pulls me close and looks at me with serious eyes.

"Get to the top of the towers and fire the ballistas on the catapults. Do not stop until they are destroyed. After that is done hop down and help finish the rest with everyone else."

Is that it? I thought they needed my help. Whatever, I will do what they want.

"Fine. It seems like they need me now so bye." I go to run off but I am stopped by Lin.

"Wait! When you get back I have some questions for you."

"Sure."

I say straight-faced. I know she will ask about me and my past. She'll ask what my story is and I will lie as always. In this day and age I can't trust anyone; not when I couldn't trust them. I run to the wall and boost myself on top. I make my way to the towers one each side of the gate. Archer after archer pass by my vision, all aiming at the opposing force. I am just feet from the first ballista when a rock crashes right in front of me; sending a man flying. I pause for just a second before proceeding to the weapon. I look at the opposing army for the first time and I can't say I am impressed. Three packs of at least two hundred men line battlefield, five catapults are behind them.

The ballista is already loaded when I get to it so I waste no time aiming it at the first target. The catapult explodes on contact. I make for the pile of bolts but am interrupted by a boulder nearly missing me. The ballista itself was hit so I move to the next which is destroyed before I even get there.

Fine, I will do this the hard way.

I jump off the wall, front flip once and ease myself down just in time. The gates open right after I jump so when I land a wave of men rush past me. I slowly stand up and draw my swords. The tiger hook swords always come in pairs. Both have three foot blades with a sharp hook at the end so the point is towards the holder. The grips have a sharp knuckle attachment making punching that much more effective. On the bottom of the handle is knives that come in handy in certain situations.

Using my hands as twin rockets I launch myself past the other men and above the enemy. We are lucky enough to catch them off guard and attack before they charge. I head straight to the other catapults and start to go to work. I cut the launching rope of the first and fly off before the operators know what happened. I quickly move to the next one where I meet resistance. A tall man with light brown hair and beard as well as eyes as dark as night stands in front of me defiantly. He pulls out a large bronze axe and wastes no time attacking. His sideways swipe narrowly misses my head. I drop low to avoid beheading then strike while he is off balance. I drive one hook into his sternum so it catches onto his ribcage and the other into his jaw. I flip over his shoulder and rip my swords through.

I disabled the machine and rocket on to the next one. The engineer comes to stop me but I don't back down. I jump up and two leg kick the man into the catapult then explode up onto my feet. I shoot out a plume of fire and roast the man and the machine. The two last ones are right next to each other and are both already disabled by arrows. Then I hear the roar of a lion, grand and demanding. When I look over though a lion is not what I see. Two giant animals twice the size as any man with the head of a lion and the body of a scorpion. They crawl of the ground with amazing speed and precision. They grab people with their massive claws and throw them aside. My surprise quickly wears off as I hear something to my right.

A girl with brown eyes and hair holds a stick, chanting words. I charge her and just when I am feet from her she shoots a bolt of lightning at my face which I narrowly avoid. I place the tip of my right sword on the left side of her jugular and spin around behind her; I then reach behind me with the other sword and rip her jugular open. She falls on the ground choking on her own blood.

"Hello Remus." I hear a familiar voice say. I turn around and see Ragnar, a.k.a one of my first masters. "I was wondering where you were. Let's not make this hard."

"I no longer bow to you or to anyone ells!"

"Then you will die with everyone else."

"I will not be the one who dies!"

I sprint towards him with a yell. He raises his sword and shield and bends his knees. I dodge a swipe left then right. I swing my right sword at his head but it is easily blocked by his shield. He cuts at my neck but I block it with my other sword. Then Ragnar steps forward a bashes me with his shield sending me flying. I launch myself back on my feet but it doesn't last. Before I know it Ragnar drives his shoulder into my stomach and takes me back on the ground. My vision is blurry, the wind taken from me, for a second I can barely think.

Ragnar raises his sword and stabs at my head. Grabbing his arms, I stop the sword just inches from my face. My hands light up and start burning his wrists. Ragnar yells and pulls his sword away for just a second but it is enough. I drive two plumes of fire from my fists and to his chest. He is launched a few inches into the air and onto his feet. In no time at all I am on my feet and right in front of him. Fighting the pain in my midsection I drive my swords into both of his arms then pin him onto a catapult. Screaming, he kicks at me which I catch his leg. I first break his kneecap in then bend his leg the opposite way that his foot is in his face. Every movement burns but I continue. Now that I know he is imobile I finish the job. I grab the sides of his head then light up my hands. He squirms and cries but he can do little. First fire come out of his mouth and ears, then his eyes and tongue start to bubble. His body goes limp so I drive my fingers into his skull then rip head head in half with a defiant yell.

I am now free of you.

Purple and yellow fluid falls down his lifeless face. Men are running past me and to their boats on the two rivers that divide this land. To my right is a slight moan that is just hearable in the mass hysteria. A girl is laying on the ground with an arrow sticking from her leg. Blood runs down her face and onto her ragged clothes. My sword sheathed, I go to leave but stop when I hear her say.

"R-remus."

I turn on my heels and run to her side. I study her face, desperately looking for something that says it is her.

It's not you Nini, but I don't know why it would be.

The resemblance is uncanny. Her hair and eye color is different but still.

I don't know how you know my name or how you got here. I have many questions so you are coming with me.

15. Enchantresses

They had left with two, and they arrived with three.

And to be honest, Henry Eugene Fitzherbert -- better known to both his family and himself as "Ryder" -- still had no idea what was going on. One moment, they'd been soaring over the dry and arid desert city of Agrabah, then they'd stepped into a wardrobe and emerged into a place that Ryder could really only compare to his castle back home.

It didn't take him long to realize that this castle was nothing like the one back home.

"Seven Hells! There's more of you?" A rather high-pitched, annoying sort of voice was the first sound he heard in the dire place.

Ryder knew better than to ask the blonde young man to clarify, but the girl he'd saved apparently didn't. "Okay, first of all: lose the attitude. Second of all, what do you mean 'more of us'?"

"Nessa..." The heavily-marked man standing next to her barely managed to whisper the word around bared teeth before the young man interrupted once more.

"You will respect me! Or you'll face the punishment of those who don't. Your, hm... friend? That blonde girl. You don't have to worry about her anymore. It's a shame, she really was so pretty..."

"I don't have friends," Ryder said promptly. Still, some form of regret swam within his gut at the thought of the poor blonde girl -- whomever she was -- being harmed by this man who clearly thought he owned the world.

The blonde man looked ready to sputter a retort, but whatever it was going to be was lost as a woman with long blonde locks burst into the room. They had the same slightly-pinched face -- similar enough in structure that Ryder concluded this new stranger was probably the man's mother.

"Joffrey, they're here." She wrinkled her nose upon seeing the three mismatched people standing before her, and Ryder concluded that this new stranger was most definitely the man's mother. "I'd ask who they are, but they're clearly unimportant. Hurry!"

With two final scowls, the pair strode away, but not before 'Joffrey' snapped at a burly man waiting outside. Said burly man lumbered towards the three of them, his footsteps echoing in the suspiciously empty hall.

"It's good to see you, by the way, Nessa." This came from the third passenger that had appeared in their weirdly magical wardrobe. Ryder finally got to take a good look at him. He must have been in his fifties, judging by the silver hairs poking out at his temple, and he was quite strong if his biceps and broad shoulders were anything to judge by. The strangest thing about him, to Ryder, was still the fact that he had looping black marks covering his neck and his bare arms, which were uncovered thanks to the equally dark vest he wore.

"Why are you here, Nico? How'd they get you?" The girl -- Nessa, Ryder presumed -- seemed genuinely distraught. Her voice wavered slightly on the 'get you', and she decided to look very determinedly at the oncoming barrel of a man, rather than her two companions.

And then the barrel of a man arrived. He gripped Ryder tightly in one arm, and Nessa in the other, leaving Nico free to take a nimble step backwards. Instinctively, Ryder tried to pull away, but the man's hand was curled so tightly around him that Ryder was worried the bones in his arm would shatter.

He turned his head sharply, trying to communicate to this Nico person that his arm was about to fall off, when a loud battle cry erupted from somewhere off in the castle. A beat passed. And then, Ryder was thrown forward. He hit the floor face-first, wincing at the force delivered to his cheek. Surely, that would leave a bruise.

Even as he thought of it, the throbbing began to recede. Mulling on this fact was pointless by the time he struggled to his feet. Somehow, in the few precious seconds between the battle cry and Ryder's facing the castle once more, a full-scale war had found it's way into the room. Swords clashed over heads, and screams both human and inhuman ricocheted off the walls. Ryder felt a swimming sort of blurriness obscuring his mind -- a result of his fall, no doubt -- and suddenly found himself losing his balance, stumbling...

"You're with Nessa, aren't you?"

It was the man, Nico, gripping at his shoulders, keeping him steady.

Ryder wasn't sure what he was doing here. Ryder wasn't sure what Nico was doing here. Ryder wasn't even sure where 'here' was. The one thing he was sure of, however, was that he wanted to live. "Yes," Ryder growled, tearing himself away quickly. He would steady himself. And he would slink away like the shadow he was. "Yes, I'm with her."

"Good. Find her and get out of here. Have her make a Portal. Tell her I'll catch up."

A Portal? Ryder wondered. Is that what that wardrobe was -- a Portal?

He never got the chance to voice his musings. A looming figure towered behind Nico, his hulking form making Nico seem slim in comparison. An axe was gripped in both the man's hands, callouses evident on his fingers. And the axe lowered, lowered, lowered --

At the last possible second, Nico turned, managed to dodge the strike, and flipped the larger man onto his back. The axe was torn from the attacker's grip, and somehow landed in the attacker's chest with a sickening thud.

Ryder stood, shell-shocked, unable to look away.

He wasn't in Corona anymore.

Nico turned, squinted, closed his eyes for just a fraction of a second too long. Discomfort was clear in the weary lines straining his forehead; this was a man who had seen too much, who had done too much, lived too much. And Ryder was just a boy; he was a boy who had seen too little, done too little, lived too little.

He wanted to live.

And so, Ryder turned and he ran away. A sword came within inches of his chest, and he was forced to backpedal, only to bump into an even taller, more intimidating man. The point of a sword danced across the back of his neck -- a cat playing with his mouse, enjoying the hitch in Ryder's breath when he realized his mistake. This room was much too crowded to properly slip away. It was much too crowded to so much as move without impaling oneself upon a bloodied blade.

This meant Ryder had to choose where to be stabbed. The neck was too risky, obviously, as was the chest. Getting stabbed in the leg would slow him down considerably, and he needed all the speed he could muster if he was to flee the skirmish.

Ryder ducked and twisted.

The sword split through his shoulder, tearing through muscle and tendons and bone and erupting out the other side. Someone nearby yowled in pain, and it took a moment for Ryder to recognize his own voice. He was so used to his own silence, he'd nearly forgotten what his voice sounded like outside of his own head. And he was almost certain he'd never heard himself scream before. What a strange sound. What a funny sound. What a...

"Duck!" At the warning, Ryder slithered to the floor, collapsing in the pain that was slowly but surely dominating the left side of his body. Black dots danced before his eyes, coalescing into the shape of Nico and his weapon of choice -- a blade that shone like the moon was reflecting off of it. He shouted something, but it was drowned out by the sound of weapons hitting flesh, by the sound of screams, and death, death everywhere.

Then, a voice broke through with startling clarity. "Are you lost, lad?"

Ryder tried to respond, but his tongue was suddenly too heavy to do so.

"You know, sometimes all one needs is a bit of help out one's front door." A wizened old man with a very pointy hat smiled down at Ryder from a great height, one steady hand outstretched. At first, Ryder thought it was an offer of help, but when he squinted, he saw that the old man was holding something golden and small. "Bearing this ring is a great burden, boy, but perhaps you'll find the rewards it reaps are worth it."

Perhaps it was an offer of help after all. Clutching at his shoulder, Ryder shook his head -- not in denial but in confusion.

"If you wish to pass unseen, this is what will help you do so. But don't dilly-dally, you haven't got all day." The man's low, soothing voice turned to a snap as he tapped Ryder with a large stick that he was holding in his other hand. As he did so, an invisible bubble that had seemed to temporarily hold the two of them burst, and the skirmish seeped forward once more. The man disappeared and the ring he'd been holding not a second before rolled to the floor and out of sight.

Even the thought of crawling was painful to think about, but the thought of not finding that ring was even worse. Ryder awkwardly scooted forward, eyes honed in on the band of gold like a hawk watching it's prey.

Above and around him, metal struck against metal with clashes that were at once satisfying and horrifying. The occasional shocked gasp of air leaving lungs indicated another strike, and though Ryder didn't have the time to spare, he flinched every time. It seemed to take an age and a half to reach the ring, but finally it tipped to it's side with a thump that was much too heavy for a thing of that size. Scrambling desperately, with fingers so shaky that he had to attempt it twice, Ryder looped the ring over his own finger and found it fit perfectly.

Everyone around him was a ghost. Blue ripples shadowed his vision, this time not from pain but from something or somewhere else. The terrible screeches were muted. Roars of victory sounded like they were coming from underwater. And, strangest of all, the figures that had been so intent on killing everything and everyone, ended up rampaging right past him.

If you wish to pass unseen, the man had said.

And here Ryder was: unseen. Invisible, almost.

His mother had been able to heal his father with only the healing powers residing in her tears, but this still felt wholly impossible. He stepped back a step, the pain in his shoulder buzzing irritably, and stumbled into a spindly form. The person behind him was caught off guard by the weight of an invisible object, and the hesitation was enough of a pause for another foe to take action. Ryder had only just stepped away, startled, when he heard another of those muted gasps, so close to his ear that he could feel the final breath of this boy on his skin. Ryder watched the light fade from the reddish eyes of this broken boy, and then he ran. Bile pushed at his throat, threatening to arrive in full force. If it came, Ryder knew he wouldn't pause, but would rather vomit all over the front of his clothes than stop for even a single moment. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as a volley of arrows was added to the fight, from somewhere out of sight. The stone tips clattered against the floor like raindrops on a cobble road. He didn't want to think about the ones that hadn't reached the floor.

Focus. That was the key here: Focus.

Eyes scanning the fight, Ryder searched hopelessly for the girl he'd arrived with. She'd been somewhat tan, with eyes that slanted upwards and a perpetual smirk dancing around her lips. He tried to remember what she'd said to him back in Agrabah — had it been important? All of that seemed so long ago. In reality, Ryder knew only a few hours had passed, if that.

A hallway branched off from the room and Ryder took his respite there, flinging his back against the cold wall and his right hand across his heaving chest. A moment of recovery wouldn't hurt. Not when blood was still rushing through his ears like wind gusting through the trees. Every time a lapse in shouting or screaming or yelling came about, Ryder poked his head past the corner, desperate to catch a glimpse of the girl -- of Nessa.

A pair of battling warriors rounded the corner, their footsteps and parrying as intricate as any ballroom dance. Silver sparked within Ryder's vision and he pressed himself flush against the wall, silently begging to be ignored. Something crinkled in his pocket — the letter his mother had written to him before he'd left to Agrabah. He'd kept hold of it as a last reminder of home. Now, his eyelids fluttered shut as he thought about the comforting words.

Thankfully, the warriors seemed too invested in their battle to notice the noise. Ryder's breath of relief had scarcely left his lips when a hand curled against his collar and yanked him to the side, straining his neck. The hand was delicate, but forceful. When Ryder was turned to the side, he found himself facing the girl. Something pooled in her hands, a dark mass that Ryder was eager to prevent.

"Show yourself, demon."

"Wait!" Ryder fiddled at his finger, hoping to find a way to turn the invisibility off. A warrior bumped into the girl, and she whipped around, the shadow in her hands striking her newest enemy between the eyes. The heavyset man fell backwards as though frozen. After seeing the result of the battle so far, Ryder knew better.

Another warrior raged forward in the place of the other, and Nessa cursed before once again summoning a dark sort of magic, seemingly out of thin air. "I don't have time for this, damn it."

Ryder suspected she didn't have the strength either. She was already slightly more fluid on her feet, leaning too much to the left, depending too much on the rigidity of her right foot. Almost without thinking, Ryder lunged forward, using his good arm to shove Nessa's enemy to the floor. Nessa took proper advantage of the man's surprise and threw the cloud of magic towards the man. It consumed him.

"Thank you, demon." Nessa turned back towards where she'd left Ryder, and he tugged the ring off his finger. "Ah, so it was indeed a demon. Thought it might be."

"I helped you," Ryder said defensively, keeping his eyes on a point just above Nessa's shoulder. Only half of the original horde was left standing. The rest were carcasses littered across the ground. Though he hadn't known the man for long, Ryder hoped that Nico wasn't one of the corpses.

Nessa echoed his thoughts. "Where's Nico?"

"He told me to find you."

"You left him there alone?"

Ryder felt himself bristling again. His shoulder continued to throb with pain, his head ached horribly and he craved the comfort of home. Even Agrabah and the potential suitor it held would be better than this. "Yes, I left him alone. I was following orders."

"Damn him. Shadowhunters always put their own safety last on their list of stuff that's important. I'll try to find him. You get back to the wardrobe."

Ryder thought about putting his foot down. He thought about squaring his shoulders — or shoulder, rather, since his left one could do very little at the moment — and going on a lengthy rant about how he hadn't deserved to be looped into this. Instead, he nodded weakly and retreated back into the hallway, hoping against hope that he was headed the right way.

He wasn't. His feet took him to a part of the castle he hadn't seen before, with dead bodies littered around carelessly. Arms were twisted behind backs or severed completely from shoulders. Heads had been snapped to the side or were missing altogether. And it wasn't only men that had been the victims of this battle. Women had found their eternal resting place amongst the rotten stench of death. Their hair was coated with scarlet blood, their pearly skin tinted yellow. He tried to ignore the spear tip protruding from one woman's breast.

He turned, meaning to leave the scene.

A hand shot out and clasped his ankle.

The action was so sudden that Ryder cried out. His boot lifted, attempting to shake off his attacker, but he was unsuccessful. The white hand continued to grasp at his heel, the dying wish of the mortally wounded.

"Get off me," Ryder's voice was a warning, a growl. "Get off me!"

"Who are you?" The voice must have been beautiful once. It was no longer. The woman's words were interrupted by a wet cough and a suspicious crimson stain appeared on the floor near his boot. "Did you kill me? Who are you?"

"Get off!"

"Hey, kid!"

Ryder turned around, and the motion brought him to his knees with the awkwardness of it. The lady, at least, let go. "Nessa?"

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Ryder wondered once more what had happened to Nico, but he knew better than to ask. "Who's your new friend?"

"I told you. I don't have friends."

"Can't imagine why," Nessa deadpanned. "Bring her along. We have to go."

Hesitation clutched him. Ryder didn't know this girl — this dying, mortally wounded girl. But he knew that she didn't want to die. And he knew that he didn't want to die, either. They had that in common, at least. "Okay," he managed. "Okay. Come on, get up."

Nessa helped them and together, these three broken souls began their journey to the wardrobe. Ryder would stumble, and Nessa would take the weight. Then Nessa would stumble, and Ryder would wince but bear the girl's limp body. She'd fallen unconscious at some point, which was probably for the better, even if it meant awkwardly dragging her around. At least this way she wouldn't fight against them, further slowing their process.

"You know," Nessa said numbly at some point during their journey, "I didn't catch your name."

"Ryder," he replied, "Henry. But my friends call me Ryder."

"I thought you didn't have friends."

"I didn't." Ryder hesitated. "But I'd like to think I do now."