He followed the manna trail through the streets of the low quarter, paying little attention to his route or direction. It was less important that he find his way back again, and more important that he locate the source of whatever it was that was siphoning the power from the nearby font.
After twisting and winding through the streets, taking sharp corners around buildings when the trail of manna went directly through them, and cutting through some abandoned barns, stables and other large buildings, he finally arrived at a door.
There was nothing special about this door; in fact, quite the opposite. The door was decrepit, almost collapsing inward under its own weight. It was rotten through and through, and there was nothing visible through the holes in the wood. It was all dark inside.
He regarded the door skeptically. Why would anything that could wield the power of the manna be hiding within a place such as this? It made little sense to him, but perhaps it was simply trying to hide, to control the power from a secretive place that no one would think to look, buried deep within the poorest section of the city.
It was impossible to deny, though, that this place was where the trail ended. It clearly went inside, and there was no denying that he felt the power growing here, collected beneath his feet. With a small sigh at the thought of once again having to go underground, he pushed open the rotten door and entered.
Immediately the sickly-sweet smell of decaying flesh assaulted his senses. Reeling from the intensity of it, he immediately pulled free his sword from its sheath on his back, and it came free with its characteristic rasp. The light immediately sprang to life, and he was suddenly able to see exactly why the atmosphere within the building was so terrible.
Bodies were piled around him in haphazard heaps, flung atop one another. Some appeared as though they had perhaps been gnawed upon, others, which had obviously lain there for months undisturbed, had already begun rotting away. Some in-between, dead for maybe days or weeks, were swelled up to the point of bursting despite the horrific cold that would normally prevent such a thing from happening. All of the eyes of the corpses – not just some, but every single visible body that he could see – stared vacantly, blankly at whatever their head was turned towards. They were glassy, milky, and still freshly clear, but all of them simply stared, looking in every direction from where they lay, cast aside, upon the piles.
His stomach turned involuntarily, and he nearly dropped his sword as he stumbled backwards, trying to escape the terrible image. The cynical part of his mind, for a moment, thought: At least they’re dead, and not moving.
Then another part of his mind chided him for cursing them like that, expecting the corpses to get up and begin moving at any moment.
They didn’t.
In some ways, the blank-eyed staring was worse, he found as he tried to block his mind against the assault. At least if the corpses were moving he could destroy them, set the manna fire to them and watch them burn away in an instant. This, however, was far more unnerving as he stepped gingerly amongst the lifeless bodies, trying both to respect the dead and make his way past them. He used the light from his blade so that he would not tread on any of the corpses, but still managed to crack a lifeless finger here and there, wincing each and every time.
Evil was not enough to describe this sight. The corpses were dressed in rags, some of them barely covered, others lewdly exposing themselves to the darkened room with no further cares in the world. He gave a small shudder. This, to him, would be what hell was like: utter disrespect for the living, and the life force that he treasured so highly.
Finally he passed beyond the room with the piled corpses. Though the smell of rotten flesh was little better here, he also picked up on the scent of something else. Something animalistic, feral and dangerous was lurking here, below the city. It was not the demon that he sought, but rather – as he’d expected – something less, something dangerous but not all-encompassing. Something that was, perhaps, an enemy that could be faced and destroyed.
The room narrowed to a small corridor that continued further into the dank building. He could hear water dripping in the distance, falling from a fair height in tiny droplets, like a miniature waterfall. As he got further away from the corpses, the rooms began to smell less of corpse and more of mildew and wood rot. All he could see before him was darkness, relying on the azure light from his sword to indicate to him where the walls were and which direction they turned in.
Once again, he found his passage blocked by a door.
This door was more difficult to discern the features of, given the lack of light and the comparably small amount of detail revealed by the light of his manna blade. It appeared to be in somewhat better repair than the door outside, but he feared what might lay beyond it. Danger he was used to, and he was not afraid of a confrontation with a horrific fel beast, but down here in the dark amongst piles of corpses was the last place that he had ever wanted to find himself.
Gritting his teeth, he tried the handle on the door, only to find that it broke off in his hand. He muttered a curse under his breath and pushed gently on the door, but it steadfastly refused to budge even under a fair amount of pressure.
He decided to break it down.
Summoning the manna into himself to aid his body, he gave the door a mighty kick that might have rattled a steel gate. The wood gave under his strength, shattering inward with little more protest than a soggy, squishing sound as he reached the core. Fragments of the wooden door clattered down the stairs that were then revealed before him.
Once again his stealth had been broken. It was almost as if these creatures knew that he was coming long in advance and had prepared for the eventuality, putting up barriers between themselves and him so that they would be properly warned of his entrance.
That was ludicrous, of course.
Cautiously, so as not to step on a soggy piece of wood and end up tumbling headfirst down the flight of stairs, for he knew not how far into the darkness below that they would extend, he began to descend the stairs. After several steps he reached a landing, and found that they continued downward a few feet away.
Halfway down, the steps turned from wood to stone, and still, they continued downward.
When he had touched on several landings and still the stairs continued down, he began to wonder just how far into the earth this cellar went.
Finally, when he came at last to ground once again, he looked around and could find no further stairs continuing downward. He looked up, back the way he had come, and of course there was no light at the top of the stairs to indicate how far he might have descended into the earth. If he’d had to guess he must have been sixty feet below ground level, but he had never heard of such a cellar being dug before, and certainly not in the low quarter of Calessa.
This, then, must be a passage to some kind of ancient ruin, he thought to himself. He wondered if the citizenry of Calessa were even aware of this staircase. It crossed his mind to wonder who had built such a massively deep cleft into the earth, and whether or not he should be concerned about its denizens.
The manna trail had clearly led him down the stairs, down here into the earth, but he had no idea which direction to begin moving in. The darkness was chokingly thick here, closing in around him and making him feel claustrophobic, although there were no walls nearby that he could detect. The thick smell of dust filled his nostrils, but he was mostly glad to be rid of the scent of mildew and rotten flesh. It seemed to him as though perhaps no one had been down here in centuries, but he knew that would not be the case, as some evil was lurking down here, waiting for something… although he knew not what, exactly, it would be waiting for.
He held his sword aloft, trying to get his bearings. The staircase seemed to touch down in the middle of a large room, and in no direction did the blue light reflect off of any structures except the staircase itself.
A red glow caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He whirled to face it, and suddenly realized that he had been lured into a trap.
He could now see the walls, reflecting the glow of the beast that lurked down here. As the glow brightened, it revealed a shape that was not unlike that of a wolf, but larger, stronger, more deadly. Its eyes gleamed brightly with that same dull, angry crimson light that seemed so common in the enemies that he faced, all driven by hatred, anger and corruption to become the evils that they were.
It took a few steps toward him, releasing off puffs of corrupted manna fire as each humongous paw touched the ground. D’Arden took one step back, and then another, and the creature continued its forward stride, closing the gap with each foot it set forward. It bared long, white teeth that gleamed violet in the combined light from them.
“So, the Arbiter has come to visit,” the creature slavered. “I’ve been waiting for you to find my lair.”
As it came further into the light, D’Arden felt his blood run cold. The thing was three times the size of a normal wolf, and its fur was a thick charcoal black, looking as though it had been set on fire several times, and in fact, it still reeked of burnt hair. It began to circle around to his right and the Arbiter sidestepped, making sure that his sword remained between him and the beast.
“What do you mean you’ve been waiting for me?” D’Arden asked, hoping to keep the beast distracted while he studied it, looking for some sign of weakness that he might be able to exploit. His initial once-over did not reveal anything promising. “How could you have possibly known that I was here?”
The beast laughed, a grating, rumbling sound that was only barely recognizable as such – anyone less versed in the ways of the fel beasts would have simply taken it as a warning growl. “Good try, Arbiter. You won’t fool me that easily. My master would not take it lightly were I to divulge his secrets.”
“So you admit to me that you’re not the master here?” D’Arden said, intentionally bear-baiting the beast. “You admit that you’re still little more than the forest creature you once were, but now domesticated and good only for lapping at your master’s feet and chasing bones like some dog?”
The fel wolf started to growl, but it caught in the creature’s throat and turned into a chuckle. “I see your game, Arbiter. I am not simply a beast that can be prodded and goaded into a mindless and thoughtless attack. I am more than what I came from.”
“I’m not sure I see it,” D’Arden said, still circling around the creature as it attempted to circle him. “I think you can be provoked just like any other beast of your nature can.”
“Try me, Arbiter,” the beast said with a hideous grin.
Without breaking his circling stride, D’Arden summoned up some of the manna he’d stored during his trance and focused it into his off-hand. A blue fireball began to build there in his palm, lighting up the room more fully. It grew until it was a blinding white, brilliant focus of purified manna energy that snapped and crackled exactly like real fire, except that no sound issued forth from it at all.
“An impressive display,” the fel wolf growled. “Dare you use so much of your power all at once, Arbiter? I think it would weaken you too far, and if you missed, could you still fend off my assault?”
“Even the splash of this pure energy would weaken you,” D’Arden spat back at him, the light from the manna fire-ball pleasantly warm against his skin. “I believe that we would be on equal footing afterwards.”
The beast snorted. “You know so little, Arbiter. You speak of purity, and yet you have no idea what purity is. Are your stuffy morals and defense of the weak really pure, Arbiter? In my eyes, power is pure. Unfettered, wholesome power that knows no boundaries and no limitations. Power that you could have yourself, Arbiter, if only you would let go of your petty morals and sense of justice.”
D’Arden rolled his eyes, almost losing his concentration on his manna fire-ball. “Really?” he asked. “You, a corrupted and twisted thing that barely resembles its lupine parents for its descent into decay and madness, dare to lecture me on such things? You dare to try and tempt me away from my path? The very thought is ludicrous!”
“Not so ludicrous after all!” the beast roared as it leapt at him through the air.
D’Arden was nearly taken off-guard by its assault, for which he cursed himself inwardly. He had been trying to catch the beast off its guard, but instead he found that he was the one caught. Although his concentration on his manna attack had waned slightly, still he brought his left hand forward in a powerful, open-handed strike motion, throwing the collection of manna at the oncoming beast.
It exploded against the fur with a flash of white light and a sound like thunder echoing in the stone chamber far beneath the earth. The beast was caught fully in the chest by the blast and flung backwards, its forward momentum completely reversed by his powerful counterattack. The fel wolf flew backwards with a howl and slammed against the far wall.
D’Arden watched with satisfaction as the manna flames began to devour the beast.
His satisfaction quickly died as the beast stood up and shook off the cobalt flames, the red glow in its eyes not dimmed in the slightest. D’Arden found his resolve shaken slightly; the beast had weathered a strong blow – not his strongest, certainly, but dangerous nonetheless – without so much as flinching.
“I hope that was not your best effort, Arbiter,” the wolf said with a feral grin. “It was good, but I am stronger than that. My master has given me great power in this place, and has promised me an endless supply of food once he controls the whole city without reservation.”
D’Arden cocked his head slightly. “So all of those bodies up there… those are your food? But you’ve hardly touched them.”
“I no longer hunger for flesh, Arbiter. I have little taste for the stuff. My master has granted me the power to live only on the purest sustenance – raw human blood. I take what I need, and I leave the rest for the crows.”
“Except the crows can’t get to them if they’re lying around inside,” D’Arden said, almost jovially. “So why don’t you leave them outside? Don’t you have free run of the city at night, to do as you please and strike terror into the populace? For all of the people who are dead up there, hundreds more are in the streets right now as we speak, laughing and going about their lives, just like always. They do not fear you.”
“They will,” the wolf growled. “I will make sure that they do.”
“Yes, perhaps,” D’Arden said. “But when?”
The wolf leapt at him again, but this was not the same timed strike that it had executed previously. This was more instinctive, reaching out with its snapping jaws and a rumbling growl that turned into a harsh bark. D’Arden rolled under it as he saw it coming and drew the manna blade along the beast’s belly. The wolf gave a cry of agony and came to its feet a few yards away, and the Arbiter rolled to his feet with a look of triumph on his face.
The wolf was bleeding heavily now, its body nearly gushing in some places that same thick, luminescent fluid that had come from the fel dogs outside the city, and the manna fire was eating away at the blood, seeking to purify the corruption within. The blue flames crept up the trailing fluid, but never seemed to quite reach the fur. It was obviously resisting the purification, but it had been weakened – D’Arden could see that in its eyes.
“So, have you had enough yet?” D’Arden asked with a glint of the manna fire in his eyes. “Do you really want to push this any farther? Give up now and I may let you return to the forest and your cursed brethren there, two of which I slew before I entered this godforsaken city, and another that I will slay now before either one of us leaves here!”
The wolf panted, but still managed to laugh. “You have nowhere to run, Arbiter, and nowhere to hide. This is my lair, and you will die here as surely as you would die if you were to face my master. You must be weakening; there is no chance that you could have found a source of pure manna anywhere near this city. Everything you touched would have only weakened you further, and now I will do the same!”
D’Arden worked hard to hide the smile that sprang to his lips. The wolf had underestimated him and his ability to reach out spiritually for the manna – it thought that he was exhausted.
The wolf’s arrogance would be its downfall.
The Arbiter charged forward and swung his sword in a cutting arc. The wolf leapt aside and came back around swiftly, its jaws closing on the air that D’Arden had been standing in only seconds before. D’Arden used the force from his twisting aside to bring his sword downward in a cleaving strike that would have severed the wolf in half had he caught flesh. Instead, his sword only cleft fur, sending strands of hair floating down to the floor.
The fel wolf, whose wounds had healed now, made a wheezing noise which was even more like a laugh than the previous growl. “Do you really believe that you stand a chance against me, Arbiter? Do you really think that you can defeat me in your weakened state? I am going to tear open your throat and drink every last drop of sweet, manna-touched blood from your body, and then leave your corpse for the crows along with the rest of the sorry folk above!”
D’Arden lowered himself into a crouch, holding the sword threateningly between the two of them. He allowed a hint of the smile he had suppressed earlier to touch his lips. “Would you believe me, beast, if I told you that you had underestimated my power?”
The wolf’s jaws hung open and it made the wheezing laughter sound again. “I would say that you were simply trying to delay me to find an opportune moment to strike me and catch me off my guard.”
The element of surprise was his only chance. D’Arden willed up as much manna from his veins as he could possibly muster, but did not allow it to show anywhere outside his body. His eyes might have glowed slightly brighter, but the wolf would never notice in the light of his manna blade. “You have underestimated me,” he said, allowing the small smile to spread into a full grin.
“Die, Arbiter!” the wolf cried, leaping once more into the air.
Thrusting out his hand in the same motion as before, his palm turned outward and his fingers kept close together, he summoned up all of the energy that he could possibly muster into that single point and compressed it, held it so tightly that he felt as though for a moment he might simply explode into nothingness, and then suddenly relaxed his concentration and allowed it to flow forth.
Any normal man would have been blinded by the explosion of manna that emitted from D'Arden's outstretched hand. The light flared brighter than the sun itself for an instant, a single moment in time and then rocketed outward with the force of a lightning strike. It almost appeared to be liquid as it struck outward, catching the wolf full in the chest and crackling around it, the sound of thunder echoing in the deep stone chamber. The wolf let out a yelp that was nearly as loud as the thunder itself, its voice amplified by the corruption that dwelled within it, and the resulting cacophony ached deep in D'Arden's ears.
The wolf was slammed back against the wall as before, but this time, it seemed that D'Arden could feel the very foundation of the building shake with the force. Stone was chipped and knocked loose from the wall, falling to the floor in bits and powder. Dust was dislodged from the ceiling dozens of feet above them, and sand trickled down into the chamber.
The manna fire was licking at the wolf's fur now, and the russet glow that the fel beast sported had dimmed considerably. The blue flames were consuming bits of the wolf's fur and flesh near its feet and around its face. It let out a deep, rumbling growl, but even its summoning of power could do little against the force that D'Arden had unleashed upon it.
"No," the wolf snarled. "No! How? How did you…"
D'Arden took a step forward, the light shining from his manna blade still as bright as a moment before as he reabsorbed some of the energy that had splashed off of the wolf and returned to the earth. He approached the wolf with confidence, knowing that his enemy had been weakened by the surprise assault.
"As I said, beast… you underestimate me," D'Arden said grimly. "You believed that because you have power here that you were the stronger of us, so instead of fighting cautiously, you fought with too much confidence. For that is your undoing, beast… your instincts have not yet gone enough to think that you might, for once, be at a disadvantage when fighting a mere man."
With those words, D'Arden lunged forward and thrust the blade deep between the fel wolf's ribs. The beast let out a howl and tried to snap its jaws at the Arbiter's arms, but D'Arden brought up one of his thick-soled boots across its snout sharply, and snapped its head back to the side. Once the manna fire had penetrated its thick outer skin, the wolf simply could resist the purification no longer. It gave a long, mournful death howl that echoed around him as the pure manna drove deep within its twisted heart and began to unmake the wolf from the inside out, driving out the corruption that gave it the dangerous and evil intelligence and returning its flesh to the power of the land.
Finally, the fel wolf's muscles relaxed and it fell lifelessly to the stone floor. It was then that the manna flames began in earnest, lapping at the corrupted flesh and fur and bone, blazing brightly and eagerly and turning into a veritable azure bonfire. D'Arden took a few steps back, allowing the manna flames to run their course and ensuring that he did not himself get caught up in the blaze. What power was thrown off in the consumption he drew back into himself to replenish his own reserves.
Finally, when the azure flames had died and the wolf was no more, D'Arden turned himself back to the stone staircase. There was nothing left here now in this ancient stone cellar beneath the city.
He found himself exhausted, his body and mind drained from the incredible assault that he had just undergone. Each stair that he climbed was burning agony in his limbs, and he felt several times heavier than he was. As he reached each landing he would stop for several seconds and take deep breaths, careful not to draw in too much breath that would overwhelm him but also finding himself gasping for the sweet cool air. He could sense that he was nearing the top of the staircase as the smell of rot began to grow in his nostrils once more.
Finally he reached the top of the stairs, back into the rotten and mildewed wooden building at the ground level. The only thing that drove him forward, knowing that he would have to pass once more through the disturbing chamber piled with the bodies of the dead, was the thought that he could once again return to the font here and purify it of its evil, and absorb the power into himself so that not only could he recharge, but he could set himself up here, rather than in the horribly corrupted trade center where he roomed currently, and begin planning a strategy that would help him in saving this city from the depths that it had plunged to.
It was his purpose, he reminded himself, even though as he passed through the ranks of the staring-eyed dead that he briefly considered joining them himself in death from exhaustion. This was the greatest undertaking of his existence, to determine why this place had gotten so far, and what was driving the corruption to reach further and further outward as though it intended to devour the entire world.
Finally, he stumbled back out through the wooden door that led to the street and slammed it behind him, rattling the panes in the shattered out windows of the building that he stood beneath. The sun seemed impossibly bright after the session he had spent deep beneath the earth. He squinted his eyes and still they were overwhelmed by the brightness, and he was forced to squeeze them closed as he drew in breath after breath of fresh air at last, though the cold burned his lips, his tongue and his chest as he gasped as though he were a fish pulled from its pond.
After some time, he found that he was able to open his eyes again without immediately being forced to close them again. The sun still seemed too bright, and the colors of the world seemed strange and distant to him, but he knew that those would return in time. Once he could see his feet and the cobblestones before him again, he began to make his way back through the streets of the low quarter, trying to recall his path from before without becoming too lost.
Despite his best efforts, he sound found that he was hopelessly lost in the mazelike streets of the city. He recognized no landmarks, and he had been too intent on his path previously to leave a trail of crumbs or markings for himself. He could not find a single person on the streets – they had apparently all come together in a single area to huddle together in these miserable times, for which he could not blame them, but it did make it difficult to ask for directions.
Simply collapsing would have, quite literally, gotten him nowhere, so rather than give up and sit on an abandoned step he continued to wander, half in a blinded haze, through the streets, simply hoping that he might come upon the font chapel or a single building that he recognized.
At last, his salvation came on the wind.
"Master Arbiter!" called out a familiar voice. The boy. Mikel.
"Here!" D'Arden croaked, and it seemed to him that his voice belonged to someone else entirely. "I'm here!"
Footsteps approaching. Sensing that there was finally another human being nearby, D'Arden collapsed onto one knee. That strike to take down the fel wolf had drained him more than he realized, and he felt his head spinning about him. The darkness was once again closing in on him, but this was not the oppressive darkness that had surrounded him in the cellar, but instead a comforting, warm blackness that offered him solace in its embrace.
"Master Arbiter!" the boy's voice said again. He was nearby now, rushing to D'Arden's side. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and fought to stay conscious. Another hand supported him, kept him from simply falling into the dust to lie there.
With that strength beside him to bolster him, D'Arden fought back the unconsciousness that threatened to engulf him. Slowly his vision returned, and he looked into the concerned eyes of the young soldier that had led him here, to the place of his first real victory in this impossible fight.
"Thank you," D'Arden gasped. "You found me."
"It's been hours," Mikel said. "I came back to the font chapel, just like you said, but you weren't there. What happened?"
"I found the source of the corruption here," D'Arden said. "It was all centered in a selfish wolf, that should have been using the power to expand his influence, but instead all he cared about was drawing inward and building his power, luring his victims to him and holing up within the earth. His mistakes are our triumph, Mikel. The wolf is gone, defeated by its own base instincts, and we can now purify the font here in the low quarter." He paused for a moment and looked around them. "Where are we?"
Mikel pointed along the road to an ancient stone gate that was crumbling and nearly fallen inward. "That's the Old City, down that road there. Nobody's lived there for decades. It's all abandoned now, ever since they built the new city here. You're by Calessa's south gate."
He had wandered far then, D'Arden supposed. He reached out, and the boy grasped his hand firmly, helping him get to his feet. Though he still felt dizzy, he no longer felt as though he might collapse at a moment's notice. The thought of victory drove him onward now.
"We must go back to the font chapel near your home," D'Arden said. "Lead me there, Mikel. We must get there immediately."
The boy nodded, not questioning the urgency in his tone for a moment. D'Arden could not follow a single one of the turns they made through the streets, but Mikel seemed to know every side alley and every street as though they belonged to him. Having grown up in this part of the city, he reflected, the boy probably had played in these streets as a child, which would of course explain why he knew them so well.
After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived before the door of the font chapel once more. D'Arden stared at it as though it were his sole salvation. This was his chance, his only chance, and it was a slim one. It had already been some time since he'd defeated the wolf down in the chamber beneath the earth. It was only a matter of time before the demon realized that his minion was gone and no longer siphoning power from this font, and sent in something to clean up the mess.
"Stand back, lad," D'Arden said, waving one hand at the boy. Mikel dutifully backed up several paces. "Now, don't come following me, no matter what you hear in there, do you understand?"
"I understand," Mikel said.
"Good," the Arbiter said. He brought the key out of his pocket and once more unlocked the heavy door that kept the radiant energy within. As quickly as possible, he opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.
There was still corruption flowing in the manna here, but he could feel that its influence had faded. The demon that lived here in Calessa had obviously been counting on its lupine minion to take control of this area and its power, but instead the wolf had lingered in its lair, merely taking what it needed in order to survive and build its power. It was a fatal mistake that he could not afford to repeat; once he had built up his power here just enough, he would need to make his next move quickly in order to catch the enemy as unaware as possible.
Once more he plunged his hands into the pool of light, and stiffened. The power surging through him, combined with his exhaustion, was almost more than he could bear. He had used a lot of energy defeating the fel wolf, and now purifying the font was nearly too much for him. He felt the pull of the manna tug at his soul, at his flesh, persuading him to join it and give up his life to become one with the earth. He fought against that urge, resisted its siren call. Instead he flooded the font with what pure energy remained from his trance, pouring all of it into the river in the hopes that what he carried within him would be enough to cleanse the font fully, so that he might then immediately begin drawing power from it to sustain himself.
It was agony; the tug on his soul became nearly too much to resist. He cried out in pain, in ecstasy, they blended together and his mind began to meld with the earth and become one with the flow and he could feel the power shining out of his eyes…
The heavy thunk behind him of the door opening snapped him back to consciousness. He heard the squealing of the hinges behind him, and he turned around to face whatever new threat had come to him, now interrupting this most crucial work. He drew his sword off his back…
He came face-to-face with the wide-eyed stare of the young soldier.
"Master Arbiter, I…" the boy stiffened immediately. The power was still radiating from D'Arden, so strong he thought it must be shining through his very flesh. Mikel cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground as the energy washed over him. He began screaming, sobbing as the light from the manna began to twist his flesh.
"Why?" D'Arden asked, his voice echoing like thunder.
"I…" the boy screamed again as he tried to speak, and D'Arden could see the flesh beginning to melt from his face. "I came to warn you! Some… something is coming!"
"YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED AWAY!" D'Arden roared, awash in anguish and rage and confusion and loss, for he knew already that the boy was doomed.
With no choice but to leave the boy to his hideous fate, D'Arden turned back to the pool of manna, plunging his hands deep within it again even as he dropped his sword to the floor. The shrieks of the boy faded rapidly to piteous wailing, and then merely to moans as the manna forcefully drew out his soul and transformed his flesh, likely into something truly hideous. Exposure to the light of the manna would reveal the worst in a normal man, destroy the facade of normal humanity and bring forth the truth from them in the most painful manner possible.
As the flow of manna within the font shifted from corruption to purity, D'Arden felt the energy immediately flow into him. He felt rejuvenated, his mind snapped back to full alertness. Now that the balance of power within the font had tipped in his direction, he could draw his power from it. He felt elated, the joy surging through him as surely as the power itself did.
He withdrew his hands at last when he felt as though he was brimming with so much of the manna energy that he felt radiant and nearly invincible. It was only then that he remembered the plight of the poor soul, laying on the ground behind him, completely destroyed by the energy that sustained him.
D'Arden turned, expecting to see some horrifying vision lying on the ground just outside the door of the font chapel. He had seen many men in his time that had been struck by the light of the manna font, most of whom had turned into something resembling a creature out of a child's nightmare or campfire ghost story. They usually ended up with their limbs twisted about, looking as though they had broken themselves several times in an attempt to get away from the horrid things that were happening to them.
Despite his desperate hope, there was no solace to be found here.
The boy’s innocent form had become twisted into a frightening monstrosity, its flesh blackened and withered. As he watched, it scrabbled to its feet, sporting long claws that had sprouted unceremoniously from its hands. Only a few strands of wiry hair remained of the boy’s shock of brown, and those strands stood out straight from the creature’s head. The boy’s clothes had sloughed off the creature’s greatly reduced mass, and the beast stood naked before him, though nothing remained that would define it as indecent. It entirely ignored the soldier’s blade on the ground between them, and instead it stared at him with yellow eyes that burned with hunger. Mikel had not been exposed to the light of the manna font long enough to die, it seemed… but only long enough to awaken.
The fel beast let out a shriek, a cry of both pain and hunger.
It lowered its head and rushed at him.
Sorrowfully, D’Arden simply stepped aside. The boy’s lack of experience in the matter of fighting even showed through to this hungry monster that he’d become. In a single motion, D’Arden drew the crystalline blade from the scabbard on his back and cleaved downward, splitting the beast in twain at the waist.
The creature that was once Mikel tumbled to the ground in two halves, each one quickly dissolved by the blue purifying flames.
D’Arden stood in the silent streets for a moment, his head bowed.
Then, in his ears rang the boy's warning, as clear as though he'd said it that same moment. Something is coming.
He slid the manna blade back into its sheath and stepped outside the chapel, slamming the door closed behind him. He looked to the left and to the right, but he could neither see nor hear anything approaching. What had the boy seen or heard, then, that had bothered him enough to make him enter the chapel?
The sun had set over the horizon only a few minutes before, and darkness was beginning to settle in. As he stood there in the cold with a breeze blowing across him, he heard a scuttling sound, and then a chattering in some language that he could not decipher, though it sounded ancient and stilted like a philosopher's tongue.
The sound was rapidly retreating in the direction from which he and Mikel had come a few minutes before. He stared in that direction, knowing that less than a mile away stood the gate to the Old City.
That, then, was his next destination. Whatever it was that was scrabbling across the cobblestones was unmistakably heading in that direction, and though it could potentially be a distraction – some minion sent by the demon to lead him down the wrong path and away from his lair – it could also be something important, exactly the direction that he needed to be going.
He had no other leads, and his only guide to the city was dead. The font here was purified, and he knew that if he waited too long, the demon's forces would come to reclaim it.
D’Arden looked toward the font chapel where Mikel had fallen, refusing to lay eyes on where the fel beast that had replaced him had died. He had seen too many things like this in his short lifetime, too many innocent lives stolen away by the power he served, and the corruption against which he fought. His dark hair streamed outward in a soft breeze that passed, and his black cloak flared outward, casting a dark shadow across the door of the chapel.
Wasted life was an incredible shame.
Shaking his head slowly, the Arbiter set off down the street.