The final blast was the greatest. The flames erupted in a whirling cyclone of fire that tore furiously at the iron precipice before exploding in a shower of sparks and cinders. The heat lingered even after the fireworks faded. The raw iron landscape pulsed red hot for several minutes, yet it never managed to reach its melting point. The source of the fiery onslaught still remained caught in its metal grip.

Jerimiah Trisk's naked body slumped forward, but did not fall. His hands and feet were trapped captured within the outcropping of iron... held fast by metal that would neither burn or melt no matter how much heat he poured into it. His flesh, however, still sizzled from his latest effort. Hot iron seared his hands and feet with a pain that he would experience twice. Once now, and then again in a few minutes when the scorched flesh grew back.

Such was the nature of Hell.

But that was the least of his torments.

His iron prison jutted out over the massive crater that was Hell itself... or at least one part of it. His eyes were tightly closed against the sight below him, but the shrieks of the tormented still clawed at his ears, driving him to the brink of insanity. Occasionally he would open his eyes and be thankful that he was too high up to see the source of those sounds. But the sight of that ocean of flame... of the continent-sized chunks of iron and rock floating almost peacefully atop it... was neither welcome nor comforting.

He wished he could see up, but the iron block was tilted downward so that his face and naked body could bask in the sights and sounds of torment. Occasionally shadows would pass over him. The smaller, swifter ones were the beings that called this place their home. Trisk prayed that he would remain beneath their notice. The larger ones were structures: thrones... castles... sometimes entire kingdoms that drifted in the sulfuric atmosphere above the Pit. If he managed to escape from the iron block, he would have to find a path up to... and through... one or more of those floating purgatories until he found a passage back to the physical world. His magic would help him, but Trisk had no delusions of an easy task. By the time he burned or melted his way out of the iron prison, he would be too weak to defend himself against the least of the beings he would encounter.

Trisk inhaled deeply. The sulfuric air burned his nose and throat, but the pain cleared the despair his thoughts. Soon he would be strong enough to try again.

He heard something move.

Trisk's heart clenched in his chest, but his wiry frame was silent and still. His display of magic must have drawn some attention. Hopefully, whatever had come sniffing around wouldn't want to get too close to the edge that Trisk was currently dangling over. If it did... well...

"How do you like N'Doki's accommodations, eh?" said a familiar voice.

Trisk growled. The necromancer was here. He had no idea what this meant, but it couldn't possibly be good.

"What do you want from me, monster?"

"Monster? Is dat de best you can do?" N'Doki stood beside the jutting iron block and stroked the hot metal with his claws. The motion bore a disgusting familiarity to a lover's caress. "You must be tired from your exertions... too weak to t'ink of anyt'ing worse to call me?"

"The name fits, doesn't it?"

"I should hope so. N'Doki works very hard to become what he is. Many years... many sacrifices..."

"Does that include slaughtering the people of Bephal?"

"N'Doki slaughters no one in your little city. Perhaps you confuse me with someone else, eh?"

"Don't give me that," Trisk hissed. "You forget... the dead speak to me as well. Play your games with December, but I know the truth."

"And dat trut' is what?" N'Doki leaned forward, bringing his withered, leathery face into Trisk's field of vision. "Perhaps we should talk about dis trut,' eh?"

"You come here for conversation?"

"I come here for de same reason I come to Bephal."

"To gloat over your handiwork then."

"Mmmm, you are confused. N'Doki did not'ing to your little town. What is dis 'handiwork' dat you speak of?"

At this, Jerimiah could only laugh.

"Nothing? Nothing?! You STARTED this!"

"Did I?"

"Save your games for December... I know the truth. You've been in this from the beginning. You're the one that started it!"

"Ahh, what stories have de dead been telling you? Dey tell ME somet'ing different.... dey tell N'Doki of a sickness, and of ignorant men who attack dose who are trying to cure it. Medicine in de water becomes poison to young and foolish eyes, yes? And so dey kill one... and rape anodder... seems dat dere was evil in dis town long before de witch returned to plant her seed."

"The witch's religion was one of healing... not vengeance Even the darkest aspects of her faith wouldn't have given her the power to summon that horror. But she wanted revenge. Her goddess wouldn't give her the power to achieve it... so she had to find it elsewhere. Tell me, N'Doki... do you even remember her? Or have you corrupted so many that her face just blends in with the masses?"

"Yess." N'Doki nodded slowly... smiling. "I remember. She came to me wit murder in her heart. I took it from her... and shaped it... gave it voice and power."

"You taught her. You taught her to be like you."

"I gave her what she wanted, and she took it willingly. What she did with it is her own doing... not mine."

"Liar! You taught her WHAT to summon... HOW to summon it... how to bind it to a human soul to multiply its power! Did you tell her to use her husband's soul? Tell her to corrupt the man she loved for her own-"

"A soul dat shared her thirst for vengeance... or hatred for de target... would make de creature more effective. T’was a simple choice to make, no?"

"Bephal suffered for generations. Hundreds died! Your creature spat forth monster after monster-"

"MY creature... noo, perhaps you are confused again."

"On the contrary," said Trisk. "Death and the afterlife has given me a transcending clarity... Bephal isn't the only city to fall to your meddling. It won't be the last. I pity Montfort. And December. You will use them both to your own ends, and then discard them. That's what you do. Your gods use you as a pawn, and you do the same to others. Every soul that crosses your path is pulled into your service one way or another. Some as weapons. Others as mere entertainment. Tell me... which was Bephal? Tell me that it at least served some grand purpose."

"No," said N'Doki. "None."

"Then you truly are a monster."

N'Doki blew a fetid hiss of air across Jerimiah's sweltering face, as if blowing a kiss to the imprisoned mage.

"You are a very powerful soul," said the necromancer. "A pity dat your vision is so short... your wisdom so narrow. If you knew de tiniest piece of what N'Doki' sees, you would not whine and cry about somet'ing so insignificant as a city."

"I don't care what you see."

"No," said N'Doki. "You do not. Dere is not time enough left for you to care." N'Doki leaned closer. So close that he appeared on the verge of toppling over the precipice and into the inferno below. But his magic supported him as he brought his shriveled lips to Trisk's ear. "Your time, Jerimiah Trisk, is now over."

"You'll find me not quite so easy to dismiss and destroy as your bankita slaves."

"I already haf dismissed you. And destroying you is not my desire. You still haf a purpose to serve. A very important one..."

N'Doki stepped back and looked skyward as a shadow fell across them. Trisk couldn't tell what the necromancer was looking at, but he doubted it was pleasant, whatever it was.

"You escaped your fate once," said the necromancer. "You die... N'Doki searches for your spirit to ensure dat it does not rise again to vex us. Heh... a minor service dat I perform for December. N'Doki searches... and searches... and I do not find de old wizard. N'Doki t'inks dat perhaps your god has come to claim you... but no. No, dis does not seem to be so. So I look for odder souls. Lesser souls... doze too insignificant to require my attention in de past. N'Doki does not find dem, eidder. Dey are gone... gaddered up from de hells in which dey resided, and spirited away to a place dat N'Doki cannot see. Dat is when I know it had begun."

"What..." Trisk strained to see what was in the sky above. The shadow had darkened into something that was more than a mere shadow. "...what is this!?"

Something above was moving... not merely drifting past, but surging and boiling with enough force to stir the stench of sulphur and smoke around them. It felt like a storm.

"De beginning of de end." N'Doki backed slowly away from the iron cliff as he spoke. "Do you not recognize it? Ahhh, but it is stronger now dan it was when you first felt its presence. Heh... You hid yourself well, wizard. But you were not hiding from N'Doki. Nooo... you feared somet'ing else. Something dat wanted to possess you just as it had all of de others. De souls of December's enemies. Gone... but not truly gone. Dey are still dere, yes? But now dey are a part of something more powerful dan demselves. Someting strong enough to reach into de physical world and give itself life... but its true power still exists here wit de souls dat feed it. Souls dat are now a part of... somet'ing magnificent. Don't you wish to join dem, Jerimiah?"

Trisk could feel something else in the air now. A force... an energy...

A hunger.

Trisk knew what it was.

"You FOOL!" Trisk spat. "Do you know what you're doing!?"

"Ensuring dat your soul reaches its proper place. You should be happy, little wizard. Ahhh, but what is dat I hear in your voice? Fear?"

"NNNRrrGH!" Trisk twisted and pulled frantically at the iron block that held him. His limbs remained fixed, but the infernal winds whipped at his face and torso, tossing him back and forth. "It'll KILL you! It will KILL YOU ALL!"

"It will try, yes"

"This thing wants December, and it'll take YOU TOO if you stand by him! It's already stronger than you... if it feeds on me it will become even MORE powerful! And then it will COME for you!"

"It will strike soon after we return to Montfort. Despite my best efforts, we will be caught completely by surprise. Ohhh, de tragedy..."

"You're MAD! You're feeding your OWN DESTRUCTION! My power-"

"-is not enough to save you," N'Doki finished. "But perhaps dis new enemy will put it to better use."

"Don't you understand!? It's going to take my power and use it to DESTROY you! You AND December! But if you let me OUT of here I'll help you FIGHT it! I'll... I'll JOIN you! TOGETHER we might be able to-"

The iron cliff swayed as a blast of sheer hunger rocked the mountainside.

"NOO!" Trisk pleaded. "NO, PLEASE!"

Though he could no longer see the necromancer, Trisk knew he was there. Somewhere behind him. Somewhere... smiling.

"PLEASE... I'M BEGGING YOU, PLEASE DON'T LET IT TAKE ME!!!"

"Always begging..." Trisk could barely hear the necromancer's hiss above the howl of the descending storm. "...always begging at de end, when it is far, far too late. December would be amused."

The mountain shook. Trisk clenched and flexed his fists... no longer trying to free himself, but now trying to find a hand-hold against the incredible force pulling at him. The iron block shifted...

At first, Trisk thought the massive monolith was about to rip free of the cliff side and be drawn up into the storm. But no... no, the iron itself was moving. Peeling back...

...letting him go.

"NOOOOOO!!!" Trisk screamed.

"Dis is no longer a safe place for N'Doki to be. But I will see you again, little wizard. Or at least... some part of you. Until den... farewell..."

Trisk felt the necromancer's corrupted presence fade. He was gone.

"YOU BASTARD!" Trisk screamed after him. "YOU BAS-"

Suddenly, Trisk's arms and legs were free. The iron prison had released him, and Jerimiah Trisk fell screaming into the maelstrom above.

---


It was cold in the old farmhouse . There wasn't enough 'house' left to keep out the wind, but the crumbling walls were more than sufficient to block the afternoon sun, plunging the ruined interior into cool and increasingly dark shade.

He wished he could build a fire.

There was plenty here to burn, and the fireplace was intact... but he lacked the strength to gather the wood, or the desire to move from the single piece of intact furniture that the previous inhabitants had left behind.

Floyd D'Arcy leaned back, and the chair gave a uneasy groan. The old man went rigid... listening intensely to the wind rustling the grass outside. Then he relaxed. A little.

After all... it was only a matter of time.

With a single, nervous chuckle, Floyd began to wonder just what unit of time would be most appropriate to measure what life he had left. Days? Weeks? Months? Nothing longer than that, certainly. Then he wondered what series of events would precede his final moments? Had those events started already? Probably.

No one would believe her, of course. Not right away. Floyd had done too good a job of convincing the town of Francesca's... mental peculiarities. The task was made easier by the fact that, on some level, she actually WAS crazy. She'd blocked out her own memories of the night Casey had been conceived. That blank spot in her mind was a crack in her mental foundation, and everything built upon it was... unstable. But that crack was sealed now. In time, a few sympathetic people might start to believe her.

Floyd? Old Man Floyd... a rapist!? THE rapist?! Nooo... ...really?!

Floyd scratched his cheek, smearing the tear that was rolling across its surface.

Yes. They'd believe it. Francesca would grow more insistent. The older townsfolk... if there were any left alive... would recall certain oddities about Old Man Floyd's behavior during those years. About how 'old' Floyd wasn't as weak and unsteady as he appeared to be. About how his wife committed 'suicide' after hinting to her friends that she'd discovered some terrible secret... a secret she'd taken to her grave. These and a thousand other little things would fit together like pieces of a puzzle. It wouldn't make him guilty, of course. But the questions and the whispers would be like a bucket of filth thrown across his name.

He couldn't live with that. His name was all he had. The house was in ruins and he had no money to repair it. He loved his grandson... his son... but there was no way Francesca would let him anywhere near Casey any more. But... as of right now, at least... everyone in town knew that Floyd D'Arcy was a good and honest man. How long would THAT last?

And... more importantly... would he even be ALIVE when the dirty truth turned the name D'Arcy into an oath equivalent to 'Filkus'?

That was a damned good question.

He had seen Dorath Chesterson clearly. Not the hideous, rotting monster Dorath... but the real innocent soul that he had tortured and murdered to cover up his own crimes. He was there. He was there to catch Francesca when she fell from the roof. He was there to look up at Floyd with eyes filled not with anger or hatred, but with a righteous intensity that still made Floyd uneasy even now. Those eyes... the tortured humanity of them... meant Dorath was free of the monster's control, but that his soul was still not at peace. He couldn't rest until one last task had been completed.

He'd be coming for Floyd.

Floyd swallowed the lump that had crept up into his throat.

He wondered how it was going to happen. Would it kill him in his sleep? Or would it make him scream first... scream the way Floyd had made Dorath scream-

"Gods," Floyd whispered, remembering that night. Remembering what he had done to Dorath... to Francesca... and all the others before them. His atrocities danced and cavorted across his thoughts like a thousand court jesters. Floyd had seen them all before, but now he saw them as if for the first time. As if he were watching someone ELSE'S vile misdeeds. But they weren't someone else's. They were his.

"...I'm a monster..." he rasped, his throat suddenly dry. Something wet dropped onto his arm. He was crying. "...I really am a monster."

The sudden and quite surreal sound of a knock on the old farmhouse's door sent Floyd into a spasm. The arm of his chair came loose with a snap, and Floyd found himself clutching the brittle wood in a grip that surprised even him.

The door? He thought, twisting in the old chair. The heavy wooden door was still 'closed'... which, in this case, meant that it was completely detached from the wall and leaning across the doorway it had once sealed. Floyd hadn't bothered with it when he'd come in... one of the walls was missing completely, so he didn't see the point of wresting with a door that served no purpose. But someone had just knocked on it.

"Ehhh?" Floyd muttered cautiously. "Uhh... Who-Who's there?"

Four thick, pale fingers jutted through the space between the door and the wall. They folded gracefully across the wooden surface, and the door slid aside with as smooth, fluid motion... as if it has been built to move that way.

December glided into the old farmhouse.

"Oh," said Floyd. He sighed. "It's you."

"Who were you expecting someone else?" December's bass voice rolled from his lips, preceding him across the distance between him and Floyd.

Floyd let the question hang in the air for moment. He had so many of his own. How had December found him? Why had he even bothered to look for him in the first place? What was going on back at the town? What did December know... anything? How COULD he know anything? Was anyone listening to Francesca yet? Floyd juggled the words, trying to find a way to ask them without sounding suspicious.

"...death, I suppose," Floyd said finally. "Come calling for me personally. I'm sorry I ran... there was just too much. All the screaming and people... people going mad! I... I couldn't take it! I... I ran. I found this house and I hid... and I haven't set foot outside all day."

"Much has transpired in your absence," said December. He stopped beside Floyd's chair. Floyd could feel the air growing cold around him. It was not exactly comfortable. "The first healers and emergency supplies arrived from Montfort hours ago. A larger force will arrive by nightfall. I imagine that evacuations will be underway by dawn."

"Evacuation?"

"Bephal is not fit for habitation. The water is contaminated. The buildings are unsafe. And soon, the corpses will begin spreading contagion. The town can be restored, but it's people are in no condition to assist with the efforts. Whether evacuation will be mandatory or voluntary is not yet decided."

"But either way, they have to know where everyone is," said Floyd. "And count the bodies."

"Correct. But that is not why I am here."

"Oh?"

"I did not wish to leave Bephal without settling a debt."

"Debt? What's that?"

"You expected to be paid for my use of your home, did you not?"

"Yes? Yes, but... don't worry about it now..."

"The damages to your property were severe. Some of that damage was due to the actions of my... friends. You must be reimbursed."

"Oh. No, don't bother."

"I insist."

"Heh... the town is in ruins and he wants to pay me for a few broken doors and scorched walls..."

"Even in times such as this, a civilized man must retain a sense of order and propriety." December stepped closer. Floyd felt the temperature drop. "Business is still business. Debts are still debts."

"Gonna drop a few diamonds on me right here, eh? Can't imagine what I'd do with 'em."

"I have made arrangements for an appropriate sum of gold to be delivered to your daughter Francesca. My presence here concerns a different debt, Mr. D'Arcy."

"Different?"

"There have been some... disturbing questions concerning your past behavior."

"Oh." Floyd would have sunk deeper into his chair if he thought the chair could handle it. "F-francesca. She telling wild stories, again? You know, this isn't the first time that she's gotten some crazy idea in her head and gone around spreading it for truth. Just last year, she-"

"She has not spoken to me at all," December interrupted. "My information comes from other sources."

"Well," said Floyd. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"I am speaking about the murder of your wife... admitted by you as you attempted to murder your daughter."

"Wh-what? I never-"

"I am also speaking of the rape and murder of several women... crimes for which you framed, tortured, and murdered an innocent man. Crimes which ended with the rape and impregnation of your own daughter."

"What are you saying!?" Floyd started to stand.

"Do not bother," December said quietly. "You and I both know the truth. And more importantly, you know that I know it... so do not waste your energies on false outrage. Sit down."

Floyd sat. He wondered if this was some kind of trick... if December were merely repeating Francesca's accusations as truth to see if Floyd would incriminate himself.

"Francesca is mentally... n-not right," Floyd stammered. "Sometimes she says things that-"

"You spoke of these things in your own words and of your own free will. Your words and actions were witnessed."

"By WHO?!"

"I may as well have been there myself."

"This is nonsense!"

"Again... denial is a waste of time and energy, Mr. D'Arcy."

"So you want me to admit to something I didn't DO!?"

December's only answer was a long, cold stare.

"You know the truth," Floyd said when he couldn't stand the crimelord's eyes any longer. "There were... things I did in my past that I'm not proud of."

"Rape? Murder? Torture?"

"Guilty," said Floyd.

"Why?"

"I don't know why. That's not the answer you want to hear, but it's true. I did it that first time... She was... just some woman lost in the woods. I was hunting and... She was there and... and I thought she was pretty. So-"

"Spare me the lurid details."

"I never intended to keep doing it, but once I got away with it I couldn't stop. I did it again. And again. Each time I knew that someone would find out. I knew the sheriff would come knocking on my door... but he never did! So I kept doing it! Eventually I realized that something was wrong with me. I was sick. That part of me that should have told me to stop... it just wasn't there. It was dead. Poisoned to death by that thing in the ground. Without it, I didn't have a conscience, and without a conscience, I had no REASON to stop-

"Do not paint yourself as the victim here, Mr. D'Arcy. Your lies do not amuse me."

"But its TRUE! It had gotten to me just like all the others!"

"Had the creature's poison been responsible for your misdeeds, you and I would not be having this conversation. You would be dead.... along with everyone else who had been tainted. The cleansing was quite thorough. None of the creature's poison remains in Bephal. Yet you are still here. Therefore, you are not like Filkus... or Trisk... or any of the others. They were only partially responsible for what they became. The evil was within them, but it was the creature that set it free. You, Mr. D'Arcy, have no such excuse. You were not touched. You were not tainted. You became a monster of your own volition, influenced by nothing save for your own desires. The others were forced onto their dark paths. You chose yours."

"Chose?! You... you think I CHOSE to do those things? To Francesca?! To my own DAUGHTER!?"

December sighed. The temperature dropped another degree. Suddenly, Floyd could see his own breath billowing out before him.

"I was forced, too! I WAS, dammit! I did what I did because I didn't have a choice... because it was INSIDE me! That evil-"

"There was no more evil inside you than what rests in any man's heart. But unlike most men, you refused to resist it. It found in you a fertile ground... and it grew strong."

"Oh, and YOU'RE here to point fingers, eh? Perhaps you've been playing the 'innocent merchant' game so long that you actually believe it... but nobody else does. Everybody knows who you really are. You're guilty of everything I've done and MORE!"

"We are not here to talk about me, Mr. D'Arcy."

"Of course we aren't! We're here to drag up ancient history and condemn an old man that's done nothing but GOOD things for this town ever since! I... I helped you and your people STOP this thing! And now you're going back ten... twenty years to dig up dirt-"

"You tried to murder your daughter earlier today. That is hardly ancient history."

"That was an accident! I was trying to save her and she slipped! What... somebody on the ground saw me up there with her and then ASSUMED I pushed her? Who? That's not what happened and I'm OUTRAGED that you would think such a thing! Sure, I've done my bad deeds in the past, but I SWEAR to you that I am a changed man! I did not-"

"Do you know what I am seeing now, Mr. D'Arcy? I am seeing a man who can accept the monstrosities of his own past, yet still wishes to separate himself from them... by becoming someone else. By refusing to admit that he is still that man. Still that monster. As if doing so will somehow absolve him, and render him blame-less."

"Are we talking about me? Or you? Because when I look at you, I see the same thing."

A chilly silence fell across the room. Floyd had gotten to him. It was a wild shot, but it worked.

"You think I don't see it in your eyes, too? That little spark of redemption? That little glimmer that shows how desperately you want to be somebody else... to have somebody else's past instead of your own? I've tried, December... these years since Casey was born, I've really TRIED to become a new man. I haven't touched a woman... willing or otherwise... since that night. I've helped as many people as can fit through my doorway, yourself included. I risked my life for my daughter and my grandson... and for my TOWN... right alongside you and your men. I can't help it if I'm still living in the same body that did those horrible things, but the man INSIDE has changed. He's changed as much as he possibly can. I know there's not enough years left in my life to completely redeem myself, but that doesn't stop me from trying anyway. But redemption isn't just some sudden thing. It's a long, long road... and sometimes you take wrong turns. Sometimes you make mistakes... like today."

"Attempted murder is not an accident."

"For most men it isn't. Most men have a moment of weakness and they end up drinking too much, or gambling away a month's pay. For us... a moment of weakness means life or death for somebody else. So why did you come here, December? To make sure I'm punished for something that could very well happen to you tomorrow?"

"Yes," December answered. "That is exactly why I am here."

"So what does that make you, then? I'll tell you what it makes you... a hypocrite, that's what! You condemn me for doing things you done yourself, and then again for being weak... when ALL men are weak! Including yourself! Is that what you want to be, December? A hypocrite? EH?"

"I never claimed that I was not," December replied. "But, there are deeper issues at stake here. Debates of hypocrisy and redemption are not what best serves Bephal."

"Oh, and how would YOU know what best serves Bephal? You don't even live here any more!"

"No. But I learn from history."

"So we're back on my crimes again, eh? You think I'm a menace? A weak old man with a few skeletons in his closet is gonna bring the whole town down, is that it?"

"A few ignorant men once did that very thing by attacking two people. People who were trying to help cure a plague. Their actions sparked a cycle of revenge that very nearly destroyed this town. Now I stand before a man who tortured and killed an innocent man... a man who has already returned from the grave once, and may very well do so again. If he does... will he be satisfied with just you? Or will his rage have grown larger than what can be satisfied by a single target? Bephal is not the place for unavenged wrongs, Mr. D'Arcy. Other towns, perhaps... but not here, in a place where the past has a history of haunting the present."

"Fine," said Floyd. "Then I'll leave."

"No, Mr. D'Arcy, you will not."

Floyd felt the air shift as December stepped behind the chair. A chill went down the old man's back.

"So that's it, then? After all I've done-?"

"BECAUSE of all you have done."

"And what about you?" Floyd leaned his head back and twisted, trying to look up at the man who was his executioner. "We're the same, you know. One day you'll be sitting in this chair, and somebody will be standing where you are right now. Judging you. One day it will be your turn! What will you think then, eh? Will you think of me?"

"I doubt it, Mr. D'Arcy. I doubt it very much."

"You should-"

December's hands came down on Floyd's shoulders, and a pain shot through the old man's torso like hot knives burrowing in his flesh. But it wasn't heat. It was cold. Floyd tried to scream, but his lungs managed only a weak squeal as his flesh crystallized. The intense cold spread down his torso and out into his extremities. Veins and arteries ruptured as the blood within them froze solid. Muscles and tendons became solid chunks of ice, and the bones to which they were attached snapped like glass rods.

"...it hurts..." Floyd gasped. He couldn't move. His neck was frozen in place, but he could still see December's face staring down at him. "...it... hurts..."

A brief expression flashed across December's icy features. Floyd didn't live long enough to see what it was.

With a final push, December extinguished the remaining heat in Floyd D'Arcy's body. The cold had spread from the old man's corpse and into the chair. When December stepped away, the chair's legs shattered. Both chair and corpse came apart when they struck the floor. Pieces of the old man skidded past December's feet. One came to rest against his boot.

"One day," December said to the cracked, frozen face staring up at him. "But not today."

With a gentle nudge, December sent Floyd's head skidding into the large hole in the floor in the far corner of the house.

---

"There's more people out there," said Emerson Shaw. He let Hemingway wrestle the door back into place behind him, sealing the Night's Bloom in. The small single-story building stood on the edge of town. It had been abandoned for years before the zombies came, and so the monster didn't have too much incentive to tear it down. Even still, they'd torn off all the doors, shattered the windows, and ripped a large enough hole in one of the walls to make the building's safety questionable.

"People are startin' to come from all over," Emerson continued "I thought I saw a few Montfort faces. Picked a few Montfort pockets while I was at it. Dammit, why can't they send any RICH people to help!?"

"You got close enough to be seen!?" Hars growled.

"Hey... this is ME we're talkin about," said Emerson. "Nobody saw me. Besides, what ELSE am I supposed to do? There's nothing left here to steal. Although..." Emerson continued in a whisper "...word has it that that Roff fellow had a stash of gold in a safe at his house-"

"Leave it alone, Emerson," said Hars.

"Oh, come ON! We're THIEVES! I thought we're supposed to be separating people from their property... not getting all bloodied up playing hero to a town full of old farts!"

"While I can agree wit yer sentiments," said Hars. "We aren't takin' anything from this town. Whole place is cursed, and I'll not be draggin' any piece of it back to Montfort just so you can have a few coins in your pocket. We'd do well to knock the dirt off of our boots before we leave as well."

"Well then," said Emerson as he clicked the heals of his boots together, knocking loose a few clumps of dirt. "Can we go now?"

"No word yet," said Hemingway. Emerson sighed.

"Why are we even HERE?!"

"Just in case," said Hars.

"Just in case WHAT? It's over! And even if it wasn't... look at us! There's nothin' we can do about it! Personally I say we just start walking."

"I'm not walking to Montfort, I can tell you that much," said Yexhill Thane. "I got fresh stitches in my feet. And they hurt like hell."

"Hush, ya big baby!"

"This from the only one of us to get through this unscathed," said Gallows. There was only one dark corner in the building, and Gallows occupied it. "Perhaps you'd like to feel his pain. I can arrange that."

"Uhhh, no thanks," said Emerson. Emerson found an empty spot on the floor and sat himself in it. "What an adventure this has been, eh? Are we getting paid for this?"

"I'd be just as happy to forget the money an get back to robbing drug shipments," said Thane. "At least there was honest fighting in that."

"Are you going to be all right, Thane?" said Hemingway Shaw.

"Save it. I'll be fine."

"So how long does it take before, uhh..." Emerson wiggled his finger in the vicinity of Thane's shoulder. Thane had found a shirt to wear, but the leading edge of his tattoo was still visible at the bottom of his neck. It hadn't been there a few hours ago.

"I never know," said Thane. "But it's my problem, not yours. Don't worry about it."

"Maybe Lovvorn can-" Hars began.

"I said don't WORRY about it!" Thane snapped.

"Fine then." Hars let the moment of disrespect go. This time. "Personally, I'm just glad we made it out alive."

"Well we DID die..." Emerson added.

"Some more than others." Hemingway nodded at the dark corner that was Gallows.

"Dead is dead... he doesn't get extra points for doing it twice," said Emerson.

"You're wrong," Gallows replied.

"Okay... so you DO get extra points for-"

"Dead is not dead. When we all went... that was just the outer fringes. Just a small step beyond an astral projection. But the second time, I went deeper. Much deeper. To a place even N'Doki is afraid to look."

"So what did you see?" said Hemingway.

"The truth."

"Uhh-oh, that sounds serious," Emerson said with a chuckle. "Gonna put on a robe and start askin' for donations now, Gallows?"

"Shut up, Em, I want to hear what he says."

Gallows stepped forward... moving out of the shadows just enough so that the others could see his face.

"I saw the answers to all my questions. All the important ones. Why my family had to die the way they did. Why I survived. Why the monks couldn't defend the monastery when K'Sano attacked it.... Now I know why. Everything that's happened to me was meant to happen. I was meant to be here... in Bephal... so that I could stop that thing."

"By killing people?" said Hemingway

"I'm an assassin," Gallows replied. "And an empath. The two don't normally go together, but that's what was needed here... so that's what fate made me. That thing had to be stopped, and I was sent here to stop it."

"Sent by who?" said Thane. "The gods?"

"Yes."

"Which one? There's only like a million of 'em!"

"So that's your excuse, eh?" said Hemingway. "I don't care what or why you are, Gallows... but I thought you were a better man than to go around killing innocent people. But now you say that you were on a mission from the gods? That those people were MEANT to die and you were MEANT to kill them?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Whatever lets you sleep at night."

"Who says I sleep?"

"Whatever." Hemingway Shaw turned away in disgust.

"They would have spread," said Gallows, now stepping completely out of the darkness. "It wouldn't have remained here in Bephal. They would have evacuated the town... just like they're doing now. The seeds would have spread to Montfort and beyond. You were right, there WERE other ways. They could have been helped. Maybe cured. But once they left the city, we wouldn't have been able to find them all. Not before the evil had sprouted and this whole thing had started over again somewhere else."

"You say that as if you know it for a fact, Gallows, and you don't!"

"I do. I saw it. My last living thought was why... why had my life been the way it was? Why had it come to this? I wanted to know... and so that's what I saw. My life didn't flash before my eyes, Hemingway... instead, I saw the ABSENCE of my life. What would have happened if I had never been born an empath... or never born at all. If I hadn't survived the Sport. If I hadn't become an assassin. If I hadn't joined the Night's Bloom. In a few years, this entire region would be a wasteland. They'd stop it eventually... but thousands of people would have been corrupted, and hundreds of thousands would've died. You, Hemingway, would become the butcher of Montfort... breaking into houses and cracking open skulls in with that hammer of yours. Very small skulls, Hemingway... very, very small. The Tower Guard would hunt you down like an animal and burn you alive to stop the corruption from spreading. But it would spread anyway. A few years later, Montfort would be gone. All of you would be dead. December would be a broken man, completely under N'Doki's influence. That's when it gets really bad. But that won't happen now. None of it will happen. At least not THAT way."

"And all it took was a few innocent lives," said Hemingway.

"Sounds like a good trade to me," said Thane.

"Aye." Hars grunted. Even Emerson Shaw nodded solemnly.

"Hmph. Butcher of Montfort, indeed."

"Indeed," Gallows said, moving back once more. "...very small skulls..." He took two steps and disappeared completely.

"I still say-"

"No one cares what you say, Hemingway," said Thane. "Just give it a rest, all right? It's over... so shut up."

"December is here," Gallows announced from the shadows.

An instant later, December slid the door aside and let himself in. J'Hasp trotted in a second later and quietly slid the door closed behind him.

"Our job here is done," he said.

"HALLELUJAH!!!" Emerson shouted. "All praise December the Great! Now lets get out of here!"

"Lovvorn is opening a portal behind to Montfort behind this building. His efforts teleporting healers and supplies have left him quite taxed, so I do not suggest keeping him waiting."

"You'll be joinin' us, then?" said Hars as the others gathered their belongings.

"N'Doki will provide separate transportation. We should not arrive in Montfort together."

"You sure you wanna trust him?" said Hars.

"I know what to trust him with, and what not to. That is sufficient."

"Mmmhmm," Hars said with a scowl. Suddenly a barely subdued 'THUMP' sounded behind the building. The vibrations caused the walls to groan.

"That's our ride," said Emerson. He slipped out of a window and was gone.

"See you in town," said Hars. December nodded. "Move out!"

The Night's Bloom filed out of the old shack, and after a few seconds the vibrations behind the building ceased.

December didn't bother turning around. He already knew N'Doki was standing behind him.

"You seemed reluctant to face them," said December. "Fear?"

"N'Doki fears no man, living or dead. Nor do I waste my time wit de opinions of t'ieves and bandits."

"They performed well..." Now, December turned. "Especially since I was assured that their presence was completely unnecessary. Yet, they were surprisingly useful. Crucial, in fact."

N'Doki dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand.

"Has Trisk been dealt with?"

"De wizard will not bodder us again."

"And this... mysterious event that was our reason for coming here. What have you learned?"

"Almost not'ing."

"So this entire adventure was a waste of time."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. We will see soon enough."

"Ahhh, yes. Your lesson. Have I learned it to your satisfaction?"

"Dat depends on what you t'ink you haf learned, godling."

"Nothing that could not have been explained much more efficiently with mere words. If you wish to persuade me to set aside such concepts as mercy and humanity, then this had indeed been a wasted trip."

"Mmmm, you still t'ink N'Doki wastes your time. Perhaps dat is true. Only de future will say for certain what... if anyt'ing... you haf learned. Time will tell if is dis new, softer December can survive... or if he must return to de old ways..."

"You have gone to great lengths to prepare me for some future challenge... yet you fail to tell me what it is that you see."

"Not'ing dat you haf not already seen."

"More riddles."

"No. No more riddles. You saw your own past while you lived it, yes? Den you know what comes. Bephal was attacked by its own history and it is from de past dat its salvation came. N'Doki tells you earlier dat you are Bephal... yet dese are all riddles to you?"

"Something from my past is coming to destroy me," December said after a pause.

"Not somet'ing... everyt'ing."

"And if I were to ask you for details, you would merely say-"

"We shall see."

December nodded, smiling.

"Then I am not concerned. I have survived my past once. I can do so again, easily."

"Ahh, but you are not de same man dat survived it, eh? You try to forget dat man... try to be dis NEW man."

"Men change," said December. "Methods... desires... nothing remains the same forever."

"I have."

"One look in any mirror would prove you wrong, N'Doki."

"Oh?"

With a gesture, N'Doki changed his shriveled, skeletal body into a younger, more human version of himself. His skin lost its leathery texture, and a thin mat of black hair coated his skull. Fresh muscle and fat filled in the deep hollows of the necromancer's face, transforming him from a monster to a man. A very handsome man.

"See?" said N'Doki. "I haf not changed at all."

"You are still the same monster underneath," December replied.

"Ahhh, but de real question is... are you? I t'ink we know de answer to dat one by now, yes?"

Now it was N'Doki's turn to smile... but on him, the expression bore an entirely different meaning.

"I assume there are no further surprises in store for Bephal?"

"Eh? Surprises? De creature is dead, no? De seeds destroyed... de bodies burned or destroyed wit cold or acid? What surprises could dere be?"

"Are you certain all of the seeds are accounded for?"

"You do not trust de assassin? You t'ink he was not deadly enough?"

"If any had escaped the town before he struck... or if they were hidden somehow..."

"Hidden by whom? For what purpose? Heh... perhaps you should concern yourself wit more important t'ings, as N'Doki does. Dere are no more lessons for us here. But dere is much work still to be done. In Montfort. Yet we stand here talking of surprises... Heh. And you t'ink I waste YOUR time?"

"So the master declares the lesson to be complete?" December said with no small hint of sarcasm.

"As complete as it can be."

"Then let us be gone from this place. Bephal's fate is it's own now."

"Heh... it always has been."

---

"Look at this place..." Francesca's voice wavered as she stood in the doorway. The home she had grown up in... that she had known from birth... was in shambles. The zombies had not torn it down as they had so many other buildings, but they had managed to claw their way inside and gut it completely. All of the furniture was in pieces. The walls bore deep, gore-streaked claw marks, and the air reeked of the undead.

The house wasn't even recognizable.

Francesca winced and went pale.

"I told you you shouldn't come," said Grigory Roff. He came up behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"No, I wanted to see," she replied. Her voice was even and stable. Her earlier descent into madness had been a quick visit... not a permanent relocation. In fact, she felt more sane now than she'd felt in almost eight years. "We both wanted to see. Casey, come and look."

Casey D'Arcy was silent as he peered around his mother and examined the ruined house.

"Perhaps this isn't something a child ought to see," said Roff.

"Why not? The world is ugly... why not show him the truth of it."

"Because he's seen enough ugliness for one day?"

"Mama, can they fix it?" said Casey.

"I don't know," Francesca replied. "But they'll try. We'll get to watch them. Maybe you can help... would you like that, Casey?"

"REALLY!!?"

"I still don't think that's a good idea," said Roff. "Everyone else is leaving-"

"Not everyone. You're staying, aren't you?"

"Yeess," Roff said reluctantly. "Someone has to stay and direct the reconstruction."

"-and someone has to stay and cook. Wash clothes. Care for the-"

"We'll have people for that, Francesca. You and Casey should go to Montfort with the others."

Francesca turned, pulling away from Roff and clamping her hand on Casey's shoulder.

"I don't LIKE Montfort!" she snapped. "It's a bad place. I'm not taking my son there."

"And this is better?" Roff swept his arm beside him in an arc, indicating the row of ruined buildings that was once a populated street. "We don't even have clean water. It will be a week before the alchemists can purify all the wells. And it'll take at least that long to get all the... ummm... remains.... uhhh... properly identified and disposed of. Until then, this place is a hazard."

"But it's MY hazard," said Francesca. "Mine. Yours. Casey's."

"I just don't want to see you endangered any further, that's all. I've lost too many friends. Enemies, too. I don't want to lose any more."

"I don't think you will," Francesca said. "I feel safer now that I have since... ever. Like a cloud has been blocking the sun for years, and now its gone. It's finally over, and now I can be warm and safe... for the first time. Don't you feel it, too?"

"I haven't had time to feel much of anything," said Roff. "But I know what you mean." Grigory took a deep breath, and smiled as he exhaled. "It is over. We've been living on the edge of a sword for generations, but now it's finally over. I suppose we have December to thank for that."

"You'll not thank him with my son around to hear you," Francesca snapped. Casey gave her a puzzled look, then went back to staring at the houses on the opposite side of the street. "That man is a criminal."

"That criminal had supplies and healers teleported in before our messengers had departed for Montfort. He's pledged money to help us rebuild."

"And the people he slaughtered? What about them?"

"That 'safe' feeling we've been talking about?" said Roff. "If he hadn't done what he did. I don't think we'd be feeling it. He put an end to it, Francesca. The biggest, darkest evil this town has ever seen.. and its gone now, thanks to him and his people. You don't have to like them, but you'd be rude not to at least thank them."

"Then call me rude," said Francesca. "They tried to kill my son, or don't you remember that?"

"I'm sure there was-"

"A perfectly logical reason to want to kill a child? If there is, I don't want to hear it. I'm happy that they're gone, and that's an even BETTER reason for us not to go to Montfort."

"Fair enough," Roff said with a nod. He glanced briefly down at Casey, and then looked across the street to see what the boy was staring at. There wasn't anything there. Certainly nothing worth staring at. "Casey?"

"They came to say goodbye."

"Who?" said Francesca, turning to follow her son's eyes.

"All the people from before."

"Before what?"

"Before now," Casey said. "See-" he pointed at nothing. Then he raised his hand and waved. At nothing.

"The ghosts," Francesca whispered.

"Do you... see them, too?"

"I don't see a thing," she replied. "But I don't doubt that they're there."

"They're saying goodbye. And that they're sorry."

"Sorry for what, Casey?"

"Everything they didn't do. They say they're really sorry they didn't stop it before... but they couldn't. They weren't allowed to. Something about fate... mama, what's 'fate' mean?"

"Is Dorath there?" said Francesca. Her eyes searched the wrecked buildings for signs of... anything. "Is he there, too?"

"I don't know..." Casey looked back and forth, up and down the street. "There's so many. Is that him?" He pointed. "He's waving at you, mama. He's smiling. I think he's happy."

"It's him. It has to be."

"And Trisk?" Roff asked. "Do you see him?"

Casey shook his head, suddenly frowning.

"He won't be back," the boy said. No explanation was asked... and none was given. "And neither will grampa." He turned to his mother. "Mama, is grampa dead?"

"I-"

"Maybe this is a bit too morbid for a child," Roff interrupted.

"Well ask the ghosts to leave, then," said Francesca. "Go ahead. Ask them."

"Bye-bye!" Casey gave a hearty wave, and then raised his eyes skyward as if watching a bird in flight. "Bye!"

Francesca and Grigory looked up, too. Above them, the evening sun beamed through white clouds, and for a moment... for the slightest instant when their eyes met the sun's rays... Francesca D'Arcy and Grigory Roff saw something glorious.

---

At first word of the disaster in Bephal, healers and medical supplies began flowing into the city via portals and teleportation spells... initially the work of a single, unidentified mage in Montfort, and then later by the Tower Guard and private practitioners in Montfort and surrounding places. But as the day wore on, the use of expensive magics was steadily replaced by more mundane means. Horse-drawn wagons filled with food, water, and workers began to arrive just before nightfall. Just after sunset, the first of those wagons was on its way back to Montfort carrying refugees who would make Montfort their temporary home while Bephal was being purified and rebuilt. Given the option of wagon-travel in the dark, or spending the night in Bephal... several dozen families elected to evacuate immediately rather than wait until dawn.

Considering the smell that was beginning to settle over the city, the choice was understandable.

The final wagon of the night departed just after midnight, and traveled for almost an hour before making an unscheduled stop. It continued again a few minutes later, with one additional passenger.

"...just a straggler. Plenty of room," the driver announced as he helped clearly exhausted man into the rear of the wagon. The two women, one man, and five children shifted around to make room for the newcomer.

"Thanks," said the stranger as he slid onto the narrow, incredibly uncomfortable bench. His clothes were tattered, and, even if they had been in perfect condition, wouldn't have fit him well at all. The stranger was mostly thin, with long, lanky limbs and the slightest beginnings of a protruding belly. He didn't look like a man who worked for a living, but he had clearly tired himself out from something... most likely the walk from Bephal. "I don't think I would have made it by myself. You wouldn't believe the things that're wandering in those woods. Not that I actually SAW anything, of course... but the sounds..." The stranger shuddered.

"Decided to try and walk it alone, eh?" said the male passenger.

"Boy was THAT a mistake!" the stranger replied. "I just had to get out of that place...ohh, the smell. And everyone else was leaving. But I'll be on the first wagon back, I'll tell you what! I love Bephal! It'll be splendid when they rebuild it. Plenty of people to meet and-"

"Do I know you?" said the young woman who'd wedged herself into a corner next to her children. Twin girls. There had been a lot of crying in their recent past, judging from their eyes.

The stranger gave her a glance, then appeared to think for a moment.

"No, you don't look familiar at all. In fact..." the stranger looked around the wagon. "...oh, dear..."

"What?" said the man.

"I'm on a wagon full of strangers!" The stranger laughed. He had an odd laugh. It made some of the children smile... and all of the adults shudder. "Well I'll just have to fix that! Yes, indeed... no strangers allowed here! We'll all be best friends by the time we get to Montfort! Won't that be fun?!"

The stranger leaned forward and flashed and exaggerated smile at each of the children as he spoke:

"Don't you want to be friends with Filkus, boys and girls? Sure you do! Everybody luuvvs Filkuss..."

[END]