The black abyss of night had consumed the day, and there was no light – no stars or moon – and no breeze to caress the skin in the spring night; only the oppressing silence accompanied the night; a harsh presence that accompanied the mortals in the dread hours. Amongst the plains and rolling hill sides, there were only shadows, and the night hawk moved along quietly stalking his prey. Green orbs flickered in the darkness as he moved from tree to tree, from shadow to shadow, the rest of his figure enveloped in inky black. On the horizon, an ivory spire exploded towards the sky, a white demon’s fist reaching up to the edges of the shadows. It was the thief that stole the sun from the sky.

Erik slipped around the back side of the building, fingers trailing along the the edges of limestone and granite, drawing the ends of his cloak further around his form. One finger trailed along the mass of white and gray, the only obscurity in the otherwise uniformed silhouette. However, he stopped abruptly, a finger tip still on the silvery tower. Emerald hues scanned the wall, and another leather-wrapped hand slipped from the confines of his pocket trailing across the walls – scanning for a seam along the chunks of stone. Expert eyes distinguished the thin lines, and nimble fingers found the entrance for nothing more than a simple key. Erik worked his fingers back behind his back producing a small silvery pick and flange, and he carefully wove them together in unison.

Pop. He heard the door click, and the cracks were illuminated by lines of silver. Inwards the stone slid, and he disappeared through the cracks into the tower. The inside of the halls were lined with torches; the walls with tapestries, vases and sculptures, and undead guards moved about with stunning precision. Every movement they made creaked as bone ground against bone, but they followed their orders without any question.

Without a sound he moved along, dropping in between the rise and fall of the walls, hidden in plain sight amongst the shadows and statues. His was a form that the skeletal minions could not distinguish despite their ghoulish powers, but with one hand on his sheathe and one hand on the hilt of his sword Erik would not let anything go to chance. The silvery glimmer of his vorpral blade did not leave its home, but to his luck he did not need to resort to violence so soon. He knew there would be a time to kill, but not yet. So, he slipped along the edges of the hallways, checking every corner with a warrior’s precision, down to the depths of the dungeons.

His employer had described the layout of the tower, though he had not supplied an accurate map or description, and Erik was moving on pure instinct. His internal compass was not attuned to the strange surroundings, but he still had a general idea of the direction. He broke downstairs, slipping between doorframes and arches, easing around corners, and several times he nearly found himself confronted by a boney adversary. Thankfully, he was able to disguise himself quickly enough, and slip off to the side yet again, until he found himself going down the steps to the darkness below. His employer had described the target’s usual patterns of movement, his late night descent to the torture chambers, and his mid-morning retirement to his secret room.

However, when he found himself deep within the dungeon, there was no sorcerer to be found. Instead there were a dozen angry ghouls and goblins surrounding the cages. Van Kriest crept up behind them, moving silently – there was a bloody lust in his eyes, and he meant to sate it quickly before he moved onto the large prey.

Dark. Cold. Miserable. She wanted to leave, but she couldn't. She wanted to die, but she couldn't. There was nothing she could do, she was hopeless. A prisoner in this dungeon that reeked of decay and other ungodly odors, with blood and dirt covering the walls, and flickering candles giving the only dim light through the large chamber. She had lost track of how long it has been since she was captured and brought here to this horrid place, suffering from torture and abuse, experiencing pains no man has ever dared to think about.

"Child of Valafar, awaken."

That voice returned to her. The voice that has been taunting her, feeding off of her agony, haunting her for so long. She could do nothing but lift her head as the magic chains that bound her neck and arms clinked softly, strands of her dirtied white hair falling across her face as her purple eyes gazed with contempt at the source of the voice. The dim light could only show his robes and a wicked smile.

"Your desire to live amazes me still. If an ordinary man had gone through what you have, he'd be dead." Pausing only a moment, he continued, "Perhaps it's not desire, but the power that resides within you? The power of a demon?"

With clenched teeth, she replied in a low tone but rage was in her words, "You will understand when I tear off your head."

"Hm, amusing." The baleful one retorted. "Hard to do such while shackled, yes?" His hands then creepily grew from out of his robe like sinister roots of a tree, "Now I believe it's time for an experiment. It's only a minor one today, but don't let that keep you from screaming."

In a flash, red bolts of energy shot from a hand before his other began to shoot blue bolts, and her body unwillingly absorbed them, creating an enormous amount of twisting pain, her insides feeling like they were being boiled, but she held fast, not wishing to give him the satisfaction of a scream. Her teeth ground together, her hands turned into tightly wound fists as the torment grew more and more intense, making it more difficult for her to resist. Damn it, Justice, you are not going to give in... YOU ARE NOT...!

A sudden wave of relief washed over her like a blanket as the pain stopped, but her body was throbbing and prickling from the onslaught, vapor subtly rising off her skin. She took a deep breath and a gush of blood blew from her mouth, splattering over the filthy floor. She coughed and spat, making sure there was none left in her lungs. Her eyes looked back up to the malignant man, still holding their fiery hatred.

"Impressive, you did not scream. Your tolerance must be improving. That is something to check on another day, I suppose, but for now, I must leave you to your pitiful existence, half-demon."

He walked off, leaving Justice alone once again with the lifeless skeletons. She hung her head, wondering if this will ever end or if it will go on until her life is drained. She could not find it within herself to answer her question, but rather, there was a new feeling in the air... something was different. The light? The shadows? The air? She couldn't tell immediately.

Before she could catch herself, her voice called out, "Is someone there? Help me, please." Maybe it was foolish to call into the dark like that. Was she going crazy? She began to think so.

The beasts followed their master from the dungeon, but their departure was not completed. Two were left behind to guard the doorway out of the lower chamber, but around the bend of the long hallway he could not see either of them. Erik realized immediately that the being who had spoken to Justice as he passed by – it was the damned sorcerer. He could have killed the man right then and there, but when he saw the minion’s surrounding him he hesitated. He almost wished he hadn’t, but he was sure it was for the best. He doubted his ability to take down the sorcerer and all of his minions alone. A sigh fell from Erik’s pale lips just as Justice’s voice echoed off of the hand-sculpted walls of the dungeon, so far that the two guards could hear it, and they instantly became suspicious.

“Quiet, you fool!” he said in a hushed voice – a whisper that barely passed through the shadows and across the room. From the blackness a velvet-clad figure emerge, a cloak consuming his form. He only momentarily glanced at the half-demon, his fingers drawing two small tools from his belt and assaulting the wrought iron lock that held her prisoner. Click, click, click, whispered the lock as his probe and lockpick worked, but suddenly there was another noise. The sound of his voice and hers, as well as the movement below, had drawn the two guards to investigate, and Erik could hear their guttural grunts back and forth, as well as the shuffling of their feet, almost immediately, but there was very little time to do anything. He didn’t have time to draw his weapon, he didn’t have time for anything, and he jumped back into the shadow – leaving his lockpick in place, and growled softly – barely loud enough for even him to hear it.

The two goblins emerged into the torch lit dungeon, and instantly they knew something was amiss. Their red eyes scanned the shifting shadows uneasily, and their spears protruded out in front of them cautiously. They were unarmed creatures, roughly five feet tall, their forms sinewy and built for bursts of energy. It appeared the Sorcerer had armed his guards carefully, for their spears were sharpened blue steel, and their leather armor was inlaid with thin strips of metal. Their pale green skin reflected the orange glow of the fire light, and their nearly hairless bodies were almost humanoid, but it was their eyes that made the edge of Erik’s lip twitch. They were disgusting creatures – they were not human, and they would be slain without a bit of remorse.

Immediately Erik reached behind his back, breaking the silence and stability of the air in the room. Everything was quiet and calm, and suddenly the black-clad warrior emerged from the darkness, a curved dagger in hand. Then, in a blur both streaked, and a shining metal stud suddenly protruded from the furthest goblin’s throat. It gurgled as it fell, but before its companion could raise a spear in defense Erik was upon him. His weapon of choice, the katana, was still sheathed in its mahogany casing, and it knocked the spear from the diminutive creature’s hands. One of his claw hands was clipped the goblin’s hand, snapped its wrist, and Erik immediately took advantage of his pain. He stomped the Goblin’s foot and wheeled around, grabbing the broken wrist with his opposite, and drawing his weapon around the creature’s back – its blade exposed at the creature’s throat.

At some point their weapon had been drawn from its sheathe, which rolled across the uneven ground, and its notched blade could’ve given the Goblin the closest shave it ever received. However, Erik did not attack. He leaned in from behind, and whispered into the goblin’s ear, “Where are the keys?” His voice was calm, too calm for the creature, and his eyes widened in ear. Its hand moved slowly, drawing a set of keys from its belt that jingled as from the shaking of its hand. Erik snatched them away quickly, and then sliced the creature’s throat. It was, indeed, a close shave.

There was no hesitation this time.

Turning quickly Erik grabbed his probe and his pick from the lock, and slid them into the holster in his belt. This time he took the simple way, and he unlocked the door with the key. Then he just slid it open, passing the key off to the woman and stepped away. He made no attempt to remove her shackles himself, not knowing who she was and lacking any trust for new acquaintances, and he turned around to gather his things. It looked as though a set of effects were on a table at the far end of the room, but he was more interested with checking his own weapons, and cleaning the blood from them.

She was relieved to find out her mind has not gone into the depths of insanity just yet. This intruder was brave, or foolish, to come into the warlock's tower, as he has great power under his fingertips. But the half-demon's opinion of the rogue changed when she saw how quickly he dispatched the goblins; such speed and technique, he's no ordinary thief, he's here for a reason.

The cage door that confined Justice for so many months opened with a rusty creak, and it was perhaps the most beautiful sound she has ever heard, the sound of impending freedom. The keys were soon passed to her, and she started trembling with anxiousness, fumbling with the keys before unbinding her collar and cuffs, again feeling a wave of relief. Rubbing her wrists, she winced in pain from the sore marks that irritated her skin; the shackles left their impression after the long period of detainment.

Standing up now, her back cracked as she hasn't stood straight for a long time and her head started spinning from the rush of blood to her brain. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the foul air, regaining her senses. She realized that she must look like a hag with her grubby, muddled hair, shoddy clothing and unclean skin. Not to mention the smell. She wanted a bath, badly. But it was no time to think of such a thing now...

Her legs carried her out of the cage, her eyes scanning the assailant who freed her. He was calm, focused, cleaning his weapons of the blood that washed over them from the kills they acquired. He was a professional, indeed, but why exactly was he here? Assassination? She felt it was something not to ask, at least not yet, for he may turn the knife that he was holding onto her.

The effects on the table then caught her eye, and she noticed her sword and cloak were among them, as well as some peasant clothes which were definitely cleaner than what she was currently wearing. Taking the garments, she placed them over the rags she wore then easily slipped the rags out from the sleeve or pant leg, tossing them aside as if they were trash. Justice threw on her cloak as she broke the silence, speaking to the rogue in a hushed tone, remembering his plea for silence earlier, "I must thank you for releasing me." She paused, thinking for a moment before continuing, "I am in your debt. What is your name, sir?"

The half-demon didn't truly expect him to answer, or to even say one word. He wasn't that dark of a fellow, very temporal, and she wasn't frightened by him or felt that she was in any sort of danger, he just seemed very serious at the moment. Definitely not evil, to say the least, but his presence in the tower still provoked Justice's thoughts.

Moving with the fluidity and grace of an elf, Erik crossed the room as she unshackled her wrists, and grabbed the cloak, clothes and blade sitting upon the table. He returned to her just as quickly as he had went, and kicked the shackles upon the floor aside.

“Erik,” he said quickly, abruptly, as if he were in a hurry, while handing off the small parcel to its owner. He turned immediately, katana still in hand, and looked straight into her violet hues. His body seemingly enveloped in satin black and hard leather shadows. Though his expression was wholly unthreatening, his eyes sparkled with a wild emerald fire. “Was that him?” he asked quickly, not bothering for the woman’s name, “Was that the sorcerer, the man who erected this tower?” His voice was sharp, focused and controlled. In this state he was not just a young man on a mission, he was an assassin like no other.

There was a commanding killer instinct reflected in his single unpatched eye, and an air of calm and control all about him. His stance and stride were professional and unmarred by any sort of empathy for those he had slain, and those whose names were soon to be marked upon his soul. Indeed, he was an elite, but there was something that played on the corners of his lips – as if they wanted to curl into a childish smile and as he went to work. It was clear that there was his skill was great, but his arrogance was even greater. Yes, he’d do his job, and yes, he would enjoy it to some degree, but in the end it was the sweet, sweet jingle of gold and silver that brought the faintest smile to his lips during the course of a task. Even during a job the young rogue carried a small change purse on his belt in the event of an emergency where coin was needed, but in his off-time he had the tendency to sit in a room alone all day and count the coins in his stash beneath his bed.

Suddenly, however, he was aware that one of the things he had given her was, in fact, clothes. It was the first time when he really took in her appearance, and he had to admit that even beneath the grime and blood, and the torn and tattered rags she was fairly attractive. He’d never admit it, though, not now when there were much more pressing matters involved. However, he had a moment of youthful embarrassment, and he turned and left the cell. “I… I’ll give you a chance to change. I think I’m going to need your help.” His voice had a moment when it shook and cracked for a moment as he turned and walked away. His bootsteps could be heard for a few moments, very soft, muffled footsteps, but then it all disappeared as he made down the hall.

Erik went down the same exit that the sorcerer had taken a few moments earlier, but when he reached the end he did not push the large wooden door aside. He stopped and put his ear against the wood listening for movement outside of the door, and he took a deep breath. He had a feeling that the door was trapped. It was made of wood and joined together with iron bars. It was not heavy, and he guessed that despite his size he could’ve kicked it down very easily, but he sensed the repercussions would be volatile. So, he knelt down and went about searching the seams of the door with his hawk-like eye. He didn’t even think about keeping an eye out behind him, for the only other person was the woman, and he sensed that she would not attempt to strike him in the back.

He hoped, at least, he had not made a mistake.

She looked at the parcel that was handed to her moments before, noticing his strange and somewhat awkward way of courtesy; he barely said his name even! His mind was perhaps too fixed on his goal to pay any real manners, but at least he tried...

When Erik asked about the sorcerer, Justice found herself with silent words, unable to speak of her captor simply because she could not. The memories of the numerous torture sessions began to seep in, that wicked smile on his face as he inflicted unimaginable pain onto her. She wanted to forget, but she couldn't, it was burned in her mind, like a hot brand to the cattle. Anger started enveloping her conscience, but it was contained... but her thirst for revenge was not.

At this time, she felt the young rogue's eyes gazing upon her. What... is he doing? She thought confusingly, and her face began to flush as soon as he left her to change, wondering what he was thinking. After making doubly sure no one was looking, she proceeded to change from her prisoner rags to the simple clothes she was given. She shook and fussed with her hair, trying to get some of the dirt and knots that has settled in, realizing how long it has gotten over the span of time. She let her hair settle before grabbing her sword and placing the cloak over her shoulders.

The half-demon slowly followed Erik to the door, being as careful as possible, well aware of how graceless she is sometimes. When she reached him, he began tracing the border of the wooden door with his eyes, not paying much mind to her. She stood silent for several moments, not knowing what to say until...

"His name is Sast," Justice's voice carried with a hushed tone, as if speaking his name would mean punishment, "and yes, he is the master of this tower. But please take heed, he is powerful, more than you and I can possibly match." She felt she could say almost nothing more; she did not know too many facts about this warlock herself, only a select few that were important to her and something she did not wish to disclose to her newfound company.

"I... am Justice." It was difficult for her to spit out her name, maybe her trust was lacking, "And though I am grateful for you liberating me, I must ask why you think I would be of help? Would I not get in the way? And what... is your purpose here?" It was perchance too many questions at once, but she felt it was necessary.

Glancing sideways at the woman when she approached him, he was reluctant to say anything in response. However, his mind sharply put together the facts he knew of the sorcerer, and he hoped his somewhat sarcastic expression – while he made no reply immediately – was enough to answer a few of her questions. It was clear by his gear and his manner of approach that Erik was not here to drink afternoon tea with the powerful sorcerer. In fact, food was the last thing on his mind though his stomach growled lowly. He hadn’t eaten in several hours, and the sudden rumble caused him to twist about, looking past Justice, with a dagger poised between his thumb and index finger. However, when he realize what he had heard was internal, he was somewhat embarrassed, and he turned around to face the door once more.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he began, somewhat harshly, “As I said, my name is Erik Van Kriest.” His eyes once again scanned the door. His finger tips trailed along, tracing nearly invisible patterns of runic magic. “I was hired by a Mr. Arnas Mithrin in Lomedor to come here and take care of his “old friend”, and free any prisoners he might have captive.” He continued for a few moments, his fingers finding a small pull string running across the door that he immediately cut with the edge of his throwing knife. He understood the door perfectly now – it appeared to swing inwards, but he had seen the sorcerer, this Sast man, push it outwards. That meant it moved both ways, and he suspected that pulling it towards him would set of several traps and alarms that he couldn’t risk going off. After he cut the string, however, he shook his head. He suspected the primitive trap was only the first line, and he grumbled under his breath when he found the source of the soft brown runes.

He slipped the throwing dagger away, back into its’ sheathe on the small of his back, and pulled out a small scroll of paper and a brown piece of rubbing chalk. “And like you said, he may be too powerful for me alone, but perhaps if I have another hand his life can be ended more easily,” he continued. He had taken the scroll of paper and had pressed it into the runes, which had been subtly carved into the wood. He ran the chalk along, taking a rubbing of the runes, and with a whisper he pulled it away and tossed it asunder. There was a pop as he threw the paper aside. It burst into flames, a miniature pyre, and the runic markings that had been carved into the door were gone. His employer had supplied him with one of those scrolls, but only one, and though he regretted having to use it he saw that it worked perfectly. The runes were gone, as if they had never been present, and now they could go.

However, Erik stood strait, erect with his chest poked out, and he faced Justice with a smirk. His one exposed eye sparkled with something akin to arrogance and madness, and he said, “So, you help me, and I might be inclined to split my bounty with you. Otherwise, the door out is to the left, and you can take off. Savvy?” His voice was calm and controlled, but that look… it was the gaze of a man who made the impossible very possible with little trouble. It was his look, the wild daredevil inside of him that had a plan of action, and all he needed were the necessary tools to take care of the job. So, a moment later, he turned and cracked the door, and then began down the hall and towards the stairs. None were present in the cold stone corridors, and that was the way he liked it. Erik had never cared for the undead walking about, even during his youth in his master’s home. It wasn’t right, and soon they would be heading upstairs about to meet with what only the stars could tell.

It was quite obvious to her what his business in this tower was, she simply wanted to hear the words from his mouth, so the naiveness was necessary. Justice wanted the man dead as well, but it was not for a job like Erik, it was much more personal than that, “Of course I will help,” She stated, “I owe him much more than a death.” Her words were grim and cold. The fact of killing another being no longer bothered her like it once did. If the ends justify the means, then so be it.

The half-demon found her eyes wandering onto the Van Kriest, studying his body, noticing his very handsome and trim physique that was swift yet powerful; the build of an assassin. She could tell he spent most of his time training and becoming adept at what he does, it showed physically and in his expressions, with an arrogant stance, a sly smirk, a twinkle in his eye. And the amazing part is, it was more of a strength of his, not necessarily a weakness like so many others. Confidence is what drives this young man to glory. She could honestly say, she liked him the moment she met him.

Erik soon went into a hall and up a flight of stairs and Justice quickly followed in his steps, realizing how speedy he is even while walking, she had to hustle to keep up, almost tripping over her own feet in the process. As they traveled up the stairs she mentioned, “You must remind me to thank this Mr. Arnas Mithrin later, if we do come out alive.” The last words lacked faith before she continued, “I will admit... I am having doubts about killing Sast.” Her eyes began to glimmer as she began to remember the time she fought him, being severely outmatched by his abilities, easily defeated and captured then brought to this place. For this reason, her assurance lacked. She could only hope Erik was as skilled as he seemed to be.

“But Erik, you must know...” Stalling for just a moment, she chose her words carefully, “...I do want his death, but he still holds secrets that I must learn of... secrets of my father. He captured him long ago, and I must know the details. So if at all possible, can we try to acquire them? I would understand if you refuse.” It was an important matter, and the reason she sought out Sast in the first place. This may, however, reveal her demonic bloodline, but it was best to conceal that until the time comes, for Erik may not appreciate it.

Their journey up the steps ended with a large, round, steel double door with rings for handles and bolts that held the frame together. Justice stepped up to the door, “Let me try something.” She whispered before placing a hand on the door, muttering a spell incantation before her hand was repelled. She shook it as it gave a stinging sensation, “It has a sort of magic barrier, it's not allowing me to detect anyone past the door.” She looked back at Erik, adding some humor to her tone, “Think you might have anything left in your bag of tricks?”

After a long pause, Erik took a stand next to Justice. He hadn’t really done much to reply to her pleas to take the sorcerer alive because there was very little to say. If they could take the sorcerer alive, then so be it, but if not he would make sure the man did not escape. He was going to die tonight whether she had the opportunity to interrogate him or not. He glanced her way, and he gave her a little wink. “Actually…” he began quietly, eyeing the door suspiciously. He took a step forward and knelt down in front of the curved door handle. There was a small misshapen hole for a key below the handle, and he looked back at her. “Arnas told me that we might pass this way, and told me the door had two ways to open it. One of them is a strange shaped key,” Erik began in a thoughtful tone, turning back to the locked door, “The other was this…” Leaning forward, he placed his lips to the lock and gave it a soft kiss.

The door shimmered silvery green, and steam rose from every seam of the door. The metal seemed to shake and to bend when the magic disappeared, and Erik gave a pleasant smile. Slowly, Erik stood. There was a click as his lips parted the steel, and it was apparent that both the door was unlocked, and the magic was dispelled. Strange as it was the magic was broken though he didn’t know how or why. He assumed from what his employer had described that he had once been an artificer for the Sorcerer, but he guessed this Sast had betrayed Arnas, perhaps after he had learned the mystic’s secrets, when he no longer needed the other’s skills. It was just an educated guess, but the way Arnas had described many of the traps they’d faced that he was more than just the Sorcerer’s long-time rival.

Turning about, Erik gave Justice a strange – almost a surprised look. His green eyes flashed with a bit of curiosity, but it all seemed to faded away with the promise of what might be on the other side of the door. It was obvious he hadn’t expected that little trick to work, but now there was no more doubt in his mind. He had been surprised yet again, and he just shrugged with a happy bearing. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened while he was out on the job, and he suspected that it would not be the last time. Typically the one to doubt what others told him, this was just another catalyst to the slow but steady change of his attitude. Even in his youth he did not believe others easily, but now he found himself a believer.

“C’mon…” he said quietly, motioning for her to join him. He clasped the door handle and slowly pulled it open, but on the other side he saw very little. The room was dim, and there were no other people inside. If he had to guess he would say that they were somewhere deep in the center of the tower, but he could not say with absolute certainty. He assumed by the scope of the room this was some sort of summoning or ritualistic chamber, but he couldn’t say for certain. The room was too dark and he did not want to go in, but he could see the exit on the other side – another spiraling staircase to the levels above. Stepping inside he could hear his boots echo, and he didn’t like it. The room made him unease, and he didn’t even notice his grip tighten upon the sheath of his katana.

The room was large, somewhat oval shape, and the floor was lined in ebony and ivory. All sorts of shapes were present, and there was a dais on the left side. However, when both of them were inside the door slid behind them, and the lights dimmed even greater. Soon there was little more than a faint orange glow illuminating the room, and suddenly a sinister laugh echoed across the room from the staircase above. It was no secret who it belonged to.

Justice couldn't help but giggle at Erik's... technique to unseal the door. It was unorthodox to say the least, but who would've guessed? But now she definitely wanted to meet this Arnas character, for he apparently knew much about Sast and his tower, so they must've been accomplices at one time. Maybe if Justice was unable to extract the information she wanted out of the warlock before his end, Arnas might be able to help. It was an option, and the half-demon didn't have many at the moment.

The violet hues of her eyes met with the green glow of his when the young rogue lead her in the large, mysterious room, realizing the uneasiness on his comely face. It was then, for some unknown reason, she thought of how he was the first actual person she has come in contact with after so many months in confinement, and it made her appreciate him that much more. She could tell he was a good man at heart, despite all the arrogance and killer instincts. It made her want to get to know him better... but now wasn't the time, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused.

The room was familiar to Justice. She was in here once before, as one of the many experiments Sast performed on her, but she could not remember much of it, except for what she felt. It was a... burning feeling, as if her insides were on fire, and her skin crawled to the point where she wanted to rip it off. The baleful sorcerer never made those sessions easy for her, and there were points where she wanted to die, but he'd do just enough where she could recover and repeat the process. No... not easy at all.

Erik's ominous impression of the room was seemingly matched by Justice's. It was too... empty. But anger soon replaced the ominousness in her mind as a heinous laugh echoed throughout the room, knowing full well who it was, “Ah, the child of Valafar has finally escaped.” The room suddenly lit up in a flash of fire as pyres around the room went ablaze, revealing Sast standing across the room from the two warriors in a dark blue robe, a devious grin shaping his salt and pepper beard, “I had wondered what took you this long. Perhaps you enjoyed the tortures I gave you?”

“Not as much as when I tear your heart out, you bastard.” Justice shouted behind clenched teeth, gripping her sword tight, her violet eyes burning with hatred.

The evil sorcerer laughed again, setting his dull, gray eyes on Erik, “You do not know what you're getting yourself into, assassin. Your new friend may be more trouble than what she's worth. But that depends on how well you do in a moment...” His hands began to swirl around in a circle, a strange black mist billowing from them as he chanted a quick incantation before the room jolted abruptly, and the spell stopped. He gave a final insidious smile before exiting the room by the spiraling stairs.

Justice tried to give chase to the fleeing warlock, but a large mass dropped from the ceiling, landing in front of her and stopping her in her tracks. The thing slowly rose from the floor, reaching a height one-and-a-half times that of the half-demon, its body made of protruding bones and sickly-looking flesh, with some of its organs exposed, its face defiled and warped as it emitted a lurid moan. Flesh golem, she mentally told herself as skeletons and other flesh golems dropped from overhead with demon imps jumping out of the fires, the combined forces surrounding the two.

She backed up so her back laid to rest against Erik's as she studied the odds before them, her voice low and dry, “Seems your job is cut out for you.” Justice then leaped forward as her sword came cleaving down upon a skeleton's skull, shattering its frame to dust and fragments.

Green hues turned upwards to the call of the evil above. His eyes tightened into thin slits, and his brow furrowed into a scowl. His enemy was before him, so close yet so far, and though he knew he could have a dagger drawn and thrown in only a few seconds, he hesitated yet again. Erik calculated the chance of hitting him from the distance, and the even greater chance that his weapon would be thrown asunder, and decided it was not worth the risk of losing his trump card. But when the sorcerer’s attention was turned to him he grew angry. Erik did not even bother to dignify his comment with a response. Every sense in him said to wipe the smirk off of the man’s face, but he waited – the sorcerer was dangling a challenge before him, and his foolish pride would not afford him the chance to back away. Oh yes, he would kill the man. He would see red blood spill across the ground before the night was over.

Pressing his back to hers, Erik grinned. “It looks like it. Good luck,” he whispered back over his shoulder, his voice like that of a fox. Suddenly he bound forward, opposite of his companion, and he threw his arm wide. His cloak was suddenly ripped off of his body and thrown asunder, covering the face of the closest skeleton warrior. In one hand he grasped his katana underhanded, blade curved out behind him, and in the other were several small vials of gray-red liquid. Black leather speckled with silver studs covered his upper body, and a blood-red sash trailed in his wake. The assassin moved with the grace and dexterity of an elf, and he tore down enemy after enemy in his path.

Three, four, five, he counted. Five flesh golems in his path lumbered forward, and they swung high with claw-like nails in random arcs. Their wanton attacks, however, didn’t rake his skin, and he moved between them with ease and speed. Suddenly, all five exploded into flame, and the ground chimed as glass hit the ground. The vials were cast into the air over the creatures head, and gravity brought them back down into a sparkling display as he dodged through the dangerous maze. There was no stopping the wily young rogue, and when the smoldering corpses of the fallen golems hit the ground there was nothing less than a proud smile on his face. His plan had worked, but he frowned when he reached back behind his back to his potion hold. Only six left with too many enemies to be an effective weapon. Unless…

Erik immediately struck out with vicious strokes. Skeletons moved about him, rusty weapons bared, and pearl-white teeth gleaming in their morbid smiles. Once he glanced towards Justice to see her fending off the creatures, but she seemed to be holding up well, and he continued on fighting like a lion Moving in a slow circle around he and Justice’s fighting arena, he blocked strike after strike from their uncalculated swings. Undead was just a state of un-life, and these creatures retained none of their skill from their former life. None could match the young rogues skill, and he tore through them with his defensive form. He redirected their strikes and slashed out with his underhanded weapon. He used his body to apply blunt force, and the ground was soon littered with bone and debris to go along side of the shimmering glass.

Not only that, but a strange scent began to fill the room. It was a disgusting smell like rotten eggs, and it was accompanied by a slippery liquid making a ring around them. Not only that, but Erik’s defensive style had cleared a large ring around the two, and came to join Justice quickly. “Justice! Get ready to break for the stairs!” he yelled out to her, and pulled out one final vial of his sulfur acid from the ground. Then, without another pause, he cast it into the ring of sulfur around them. Suddenly, the acid sparked into flames, and as the skeletons closed in around them they were suddenly consumed by the blaze.

Erik ran for the stairs only a moment afterwards.

It's been a long time since Justice has wielded her sword in combat, and it showed in her somewhat clumsy swings, but the skill and techniques she read in books were still apparent, and it kept her alive. For once she was grateful that her demonic strength has not waned from her time in the dungeon, she seemed to enjoy crushing the bones of the skeletons with ease, feeling the rush of battle once again. It felt... good, better than she can ever remember. She knew it was unlike her but... she couldn't refrain herself, her emotions got the better of her.

The skeletons brought down their maces, the clunky attacks only to be blocked and deflected by her sword, slashing through one's ribcage before ducking under another attack, the blade slicing upwards, launching the skeleton through the air until it shattered on the ground. Her violet eyes locked on another as it charged, its rusty brand aiming for her chest, but she evaded the strike by a step, bringing the back of her fist onto its skull with a CRACK, sending the undead head flying across the room. Justice took a step back, surveying the opposition, realizing she had barely made a dent, but her eye caught her speedy companion, barely able to make out what he was doing until the flesh golems burst into flames, emitting abominable screams as they fell roasting in their own foul bodies. But it was not enough, there were still many skeleton soldiers.

Another slice of her sword decapitated another undead minion, and her body spun to kick another in the torso, forcing it back, crashing into a couple others. Her blade began to swing before her arm was caught by a bony hand, stopping her attack. Annoyed, she grabbed the skeleton's arm, easily crushing the bone within her palm, her liberated sword chopping its spine in half. She looked towards Erik's position, realizing that he was creating defensive circle around them, and she decided to do the same, matching his half with hers, and it wasn't long before the circle was complete as she resorted to sword thrusts and kicking, easily controlling the undead crowd. It was almost immediately after that the half-demon's nose picked up a scent of something rotten. It was not the smoldering flesh golems, but rather...

The warning Erik shouted to her said it all, By the gods, what did he do? She said in her mind before she prepared herself for the inevitable. The final spark was lit, and the skeletons were ablaze, their lip-less mouths crying voiceless screams as their bones began to char, and Justice wasted no time in clearing a path for the stairs, her weapon swinging strong and broad, shattering a few minions as she ran to the stairs, focusing on her true target.

Skipping steps as her legs carried her up the spiraling flight, the Van Kriest was already ahead of her, showing off his agility. The stairs seemed to keep going higher and higher, giving her the realization that they were nearing the top of the tower, and this staircase led straight to it. They cleared it quickly, emerging onto the top level with the spire above them, pillars encircling the large area for support as there were no walls except behind them, the horizon of the grasslands on full view and it was near dawn, giving off a dim light in addition to the torches placed on the pillars.

A familiar wicked laugh echoed throughout the open chamber, making Justice tighten the grip on her blade's handle in anger, sick of hearing that man express joy from her torment. Sast was again at the far end of the room, opposite from the two warriors, and he mocked them with a wide grin, clapping his hands slowly to show a fake approval as he sat in his high seat, “Well done, both of you, well done. Maybe I underestimated your abilities? Something I care not to do again.” He stood from his chair, his hands glowing a sickly green, “I must thank you personally for this summoning, child of Valafar. If it wasn't for my studies on you and your kind, it would have never came to fruition.” The floor began to radiate the same sickly green as his hands, and it was then that Justice realized the floor was etched with a large decoration of demonic symbols and runes and it increased in brightness before forming into a monolithic horrific mass. It was slouched and crooked, its flesh black with spurts of flame licking around its deformed body, its face painted with a hellish expression as it seemed sewn together, an enormous, devious ax held in its unshapely hand. Sast cackled at his new creation, raising his hands as if the abomination was marvelous, “Behold my magnificent infernal golem!”

“Coward!” Justice was growing furious with the sorcerer's antics, “I'll show you how magnificent it truly is!” She held a hand to Erik, her eyes not breaking from the creation, signifying she wants this damned being for herself.

The half-demon bound forward, coming into close proximity with the much larger monster, and it cleaved down with its ax, attempting to split her in half, but she tumbled to the side as the huge weapon smashed to the floor, and in a show of inhuman strength, she grabbed the weapon, returning it to the creature, cleaving it in its horrid face. She sliced her sword horizontally, cutting across its leg, making it collapse its back onto the ground and then climbed on top, stabbing her sharp steel into its chest.

Now Sast's devilish smile has left his face, displeased with his golem's performance, “I see you still have your strength, child.”

Jumping off the downed golem, her sharp eyes stared into her assailant's, “Aye, so perhaps you should stop cowering behind your lowly creations.”

Infuriated, Sast threw a bolt of lightning at Justice, propelling her across the room, past Erik and into the wall, “Be careful what you wish for, fool!”

Ow. Dazed, her vision blurry, she tried to get up, but her back and chest ached with immense pain and could only helplessly watch as the evil warlock moved towards Erik...

Erik stood still per Justice’s request, his blade hidden beneath the confines of his cloak’s dark black embrace, though he thought it foolish for her to run in without him even to avenge her own foolish pride. Still, he stood firmly, green eyes blazing like fire-hardened emeralds, his jaw set even as Justice engaged in the throes of battle. He watched every stroke of her blade fall upon the demonic golem, and did not flinch even as she was cast asunder and crashed past him into the wall beyond. Immediately Erik turned his eyes to the powerful sorcerer, and slowly reached up with a leather wrapped hand to unclasp the silver bindings holding his cloak in place. However, the shadowed veil was not removed – he held himself there, poised, a statue of ebony and ivory that reflected a brilliant gold from the torch’s angry fire.

The sorcerer turned his attention to Erik, the mixture of anger and amusement forging his dark humor, which he recalled from a thousand other marks just before they fell to the edge of his blade. “So, now we face the would-be assassin. Charmed to meet you, but I’m afraid neither of you will be leaving here tonight. But fear not, I may do you the great honor of replacing many of my servants whom you and your new friend destroyed.”

There was a moment of pause, but slowly a smirk curled upon his pale lips, and that of the great sorcerer slowly faded. The young rogue’s cavalier attitude disturbed him greatly, but it was not just because he acted so proudly in front the face of the sorcerer, who believed his power to be absolute. No, there was something more in the assassin’s eyes – that certain spark of pre-ordained knowledge – as if Erik already knew that his would be the blade that slew this great necromancer. It was enough to make the sorcerer throw up that same hand, which quivered as the air around his hand began to pulsate. A red light appeared in the man’s grasp, and a miasma began to seep from the cracks in the obsidian stone beneath Erik’s feet. The magic meant to rape his body, to drain away his energy and leave him petrified, but there was nothing that it could do to him as he stood there.

Worthless. The spell’s groping claws tried to take a hold onto Erik’s body, but something kept them at bay. No magic could hold him in place, and he stepped through the mist with nothing but a lick of his lips and that same cocky grin. Beneath the darkness, the leather and satin that were draped across his form, there was a small blue feather tied into his belt, and as the spell tried to consume him it began to glow faintly. It was the force that pushed back the sorcerer’s magic. It was the force that caused the sorcerer’s upper lip curl into a scowl, and cause him to snarl like a rabid dog. He stepped down from his pedestal, a staff in hand, and pointed the ruby-red tip at the rogue.

Suddenly a bolt of red flame exploded from the tip of the staff, a fire ball as large as his torso, but he did not stand still. Erik ripped his cloak off and cast it into the air, disappearing behind the large black sheet, which was cast aflame by the sparkling bolt. All that fell to the floor were ash-laden pieces of cloth – Erik was not behind the ruin curtain. Twisting about, Sast caught sight of the warrior out of the corner of his eye. He moved with him, trying to match Erik’s speed as he moved to the sorcerer’s side. He turned the tip of his ruby staff towards Erik, and muttered a guttural incantation, but Erik’s reaction was much faster than that of the sorcerer. Before Sast’s spell of hellfire could ignite, Erik spoke a word of his own and waved his hand. Immediately the smell of fire and brimstone became apparent, but no smoke or flame sprang forth. He’d countered the sorcerer’s spell before he could set the room ablaze. However, his spells were limited, while Sast’s were not.

In a rage he howled, and another bolt of fire exploded from the tip of his staff, causing Erik to stop in his tracks. He yelled loudly, and his hand began to glow white hot. When the fireball came close his empty, glowing hand smacked it aside, and sent it flying back towards the sorcerer. It was a simple move, but caught the sorcerer by surprise, and he was forced to jump out of the way to save himself. Erik was only biding his time. He needed to get in close enough for a sword, and he needed Justice to get to her feet – this was quickly becoming a landslide in the Sast’s favor – Erik was running out of tricks.

Come on, get up! Get to your feet, or you're both dead! The pain in her torso was still great; almost paralyzing. It reminded her of the torture sessions, but she should have been use to the pain. Maybe those were merely the taste of his true ability, and it's something not even Justice can imagine, for she thought the torment she received in the dungeon was the worst he had to give. Now she knew how Sast was able to capture her powerful demon father, and it must've been a simple task. This whole time... he was toying with her... and her insides no longer stung with pain, but rather burned with intense anger. RISE.

The ache became ignored, and her legs stood straight and firm, her now blazing eyes watching Erik fend off the warlock's attacks, but his movements and defenses were becoming more and more desperate; Sast's numerous spells matched the speed of the young assassin, therefore it was just a matter of time before one of them connected. To the sorcerer's surprise, the Van Kriest reflected a spell back at the vile man, forcing him to jump from danger and then Justice acted with haste.

Staff held towards Erik once again, Sast gave an angry snarl, taunting in a sore tone, “Try that again, assassin!” The ruby tip of the staff glowed much brighter, signifying a much stronger incantation than previously, and before it was released, a blade cut the staff head from its base, catching him by surprise, which was followed by an exploding fireball into the warlock's ribcage, sending him sprawling across the floor before coming to a stop at a pillar. His side smoking from the attack, he began to weakly laugh when he found that Justice was the one who assaulted him, his words staggered, “Bravo... you managed... to strike me,” he lifted himself to his feet, “unlike our previous battle, yes?”

The half-demon's grip on her weapon only tightened more at his words, “Shut your foul mouth. Your wretched existence ends here.”

A cackle was emitted as another wicked grin spread wide across his face, “You wanted to know of your father, the balrog rauko named Valafar? You wanted to know how I captured him?” Justice stood silent, finding herself unable to answer, but Sast took that as an affirmative, “I tempted him with power, for he wanted it in the worst way, and it was a simple capture with the appropriate spells. And during his capture, I... obtained some his powers, while draining the rest.” He let out a sigh, “And yet, he still escaped, determined to find whatever it was that he was looking for.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She asked with hesitation, suspicious of the sorcerer's intentions.

“You wanted to know, did you not? After all...” Sast held his hand towards her, and Justice's body immediately froze in place, a foreign sensation overwhelming her senses, “...his power still flows through me, and it will allow me to unlock the power that resides within you, half-demon.”

Her eyes looked to Sast with utter horror, her sword dropping to the ground, clanging loudly, “No... don't...” It was what haunted her since the beginning of her days... the darkness that remained dormant inside her... it was brewing, crawling out from the deep, dark abyss of her soul, trying to find itself freedom, “Erik... help... me...” Her unsteady words were flooded with fear and emotion as her skin became painted with many symbols of demonic origin and they began to glow and subtly crevice before flakes similar to that of dried paint started chipping away, showing a black, coal-like skin underneath. She grabbed her head, her hands forming claws, her teeth appearing more monstrous each passing second, her purple hues turning into an intense red, licks of fire and shadow now twirling around her body, their volume increasing before her being was consumed by a cloud of darkness and fire, “NO!”

Sast laughed maniacally as the transformation progressed, the black cloud increasing in size, the demonic runes and symbols that designed the floor turning an ominous violet and with no warning, large wings of shade and flame, its span more than twice that of a human's height, erupted from the shadow-like haze. A black-skinned leg lightly wrapped in fire soon emerged from the cloud, and not long after, a demon that was once Justice appeared, her body as ebony as night itself, curved horns protruding from her skull, flames whipping from her eyes and around her body along with veils of misty shadows. Much of her figure remained, but licks of orange fire replaced her strands of pearl-white hair, a tail that waved across the ground casually, and her height increased considerably, which was evident as she looked down upon Erik and Sast with great intimidation.

Impressed, Sast held his hands up to the newly formed rauko, “Ah, the presence and power of a balrog is truly magnificent, even in a half-breed! And it's all mine!” He pointed a ghastly finger at the young rogue, “Now kill him! Show him your might!”

Singail turned to the Van Kriest, her blazing eyes giving something of a death glare and a low growl. However, she did not move, not one inch, not one step. It was only moments before Sast broke the silence, becoming somewhat impatient, “Did you not hear me?! I ordered you-urk!” The half-demon's flaming hand seized the warlock's throat, searing his flesh with her fingers. Her grip was so firm he could not scream from the pain.

She pulled him close, forcing him to feel the immense heat throbbing off her body as she spoke in a booming, grotesque variant of her original voice, “YOUR PATHETIC WORDS MEAN NOTHING TO ME. DIE.” Her arm swung effortlessly to the side, throwing the wicked man off the tower, but there was a sudden fluctuation, and Sast disappeared in mid-air; the evil man teleported, evading his death. “NO! THAT CUR!” Enraged, Singail smacked her fist into a pillar, destroying the placement before emitting an inhuman roar the shook the very stronghold, or perhaps that was the spire's foundation? Stress fractures formed on the other pillars, unable to deal with the absence of one, and it would be only a short while before the spire collapses.

Seething, the half-demon turned to Erik, now wanting blood for her failure to kill the sorcerer, the killer instinct of the demon taking over, not caring about the tower, not caring who he was, she just wanted blood. A large flaming claw swiped at him when Singail came very close frighteningly fast with help of her massive wings, aiming to gouge his throat in a quick matter.

Throwing his hips to the side Erik tumbled across the stone floor with a flourish. He caught himself with his left hand, twisting himself about and around to his feet. He slid across the floor for a moment, his boots whistling as they scuffed the obsidian stone underfoot, but when he turned about he was stopped in his tracks by something more than magic. He was caught by such surprise that he kept knelt in a crouch with eyes wide. Was that Justice? He was dumbfounded as to how she was suddenly infused with such energy, for the rogue could not explain such a shift of power. Even as the sorcerer was cast asunder through the window, Erik was still immobile.

His lips twitched for just a moment, angry that his prey had escaped, and his grip tightened upon his blade to a point that his knuckles where white upon the grip. Never had a mark escaped his leather-wrapped grip, and it infuriated him that anyone had been capable of getting away from him? The iron will of the warrior was suddenly tested, and his nerves shook for just a moment. Her. It was her fault – All her fault. She had let the sorcerer escape from his clutches, she had been the one he had risked his neck for; and for what? His muscles were heavy with fatigue, and his mind was stressed beyond measure, and his sword was voice of blood. Slowly, his mind became dark with thoughts of extracting his revenge on her – of taking out his frustrations.

The only problem was that she was in a far worse mood than he was, and it took all of his concentration to push him into motion. He saw her burning claws slash out towards him and he leaned back – so far, in fact, that he had to put his arms back over his head – arcing his body across the ground – as her deadly claws passed overhead. The air before his face was suddenly superheated by the hellfire, and he forced himself not to breathe. If Erik was to swallow a large breath of that air then his lungs would burn, and greatly inhibit his movement. When the claws retracted he kicked his legs back off the ground and rotated a full three hundred and sixty degrees until he was back to his feet. He had virtually accomplished a backwards summersault, and he frowned as he collected himself. Something popped in his back when he did so.

Immediately his hand reached behind his back procuring a dagger, and he launched it at Justice with alarming speed. It was not, however, terribly accurate, but it gave him a moment. It launched through the air, shimmering as it flew, aimed to pierce the folds of one of her leathery wings. If anything it would help to slow her vicious attacks upon him, but he did not stop there. Immediately he exploded from where he stood, moving on her with the same speed she came at him with. The only difference was that all of his speed came from his highly toned muscles, and his blade flashed excitedly with every step. With the mighty spire crumbling around them Erik had to be quick, had to save the both of them, and he turned his blade around in hand, reversing it down his arm , tip pointing behind him. It was time for a brawl.

The beast that was Justice let out a dreadful roar from her volcanic mouth as Erik escape from her attack, the smoldering wings of shadow on her back extending to its full span as a form of intimidation, crashing against the ceiling above, not helping the spire maintain its composure from its already crumbling state. The speeding dagger the young rogue tossed caught her eye as it approached, but her movements were too slow, and the dagger sliced in and out through her wing, immediately turning red hot from the hellish heat of her body, hellfire spewing from the wound as Singail freakishly yelped in pain.

Due to that minor distraction, the Van Kriest was able to come up on her with such swiftness that he landed a blow to her head with the butt of his sword, knocking her senses out of proportion, and her feet staggered until she laid to rest on a pillar, blackening its stone with her torrid frame. It was then that the half-demon's mind began to falter; her rage subsided for just a moment, and something flickered inside of her, What... happened to me? Why am I... It was a disarray; a mix of fury, passion, desire, maliciousness, and benevolence. She didn't understand what was happening, she had lost control of herself... and this feeling of... wrath inside of her wanted to be set free. This malignant, infernal force that resided in her for so long wanted liberation, to destroy, to maim, to kill... but this was not her! She didn't want this terrible power! YOU WILL ACCEPT ME. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.

No! I refuse! I am not a monster! You are not me! Leave me be!

I AM YOU. DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? I HAVE BEEN INSIDE YOUR VERY BEING FROM THE BEGINNING. YOU WILL NOT BE RID OF ME.

Justice's monstrous hands grabbed her head, her mind going through the anguish of her two sides, human and demon, arguing over each other, fighting for dominance, the mental battle becoming projected through her distorted voice, “WHAt aM I... to Do... I... cAN't... ARGH!” Her body exploded in a pyre of hellfire, shattering the nearby pillar as the ground shifted into a crater around her mass. Behind the fire, the demon's eyes flashed before leaping out of the combustion, charging at young Erik, but her face, her once beautiful and shining face that was now a demonic aversion, was one of... sadness and pain. As she rushed, a whisper came from her serrated maw, as human as it could sound from such a dire entity as it resembled her old self, “Help me... Erik...” Her message was complete as she swiped another claw at his torso to provoke, however the attack was sluggish compared to the last, but her shady tail followed instantly afterwards. As they fought, the rickety spire began to moan as wood splintered and rock fragmented, its frame now beginning to lean. It would not be long, now.