《Reavers》 Contents ARC 1 - THE NEST OF DESPAIR (ongoing): - Reavers #1: The Nest Of Despair Pt I - Reavers #2: The Nest Of Despair Pt II - Reavers #3: The Nest Of Despair Pt III - Reavers #4: The Nest Of Despair Pt IV (coming soon) The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. - Reavers #5: The Nest Of Despair Pt V (coming soon) - Reavers #6: The Nest Of Despair Pt VI (coming soon) ARC 2 - FEAR AND HATE (coming soon): - Reavers #7: Red Dragon Warriors (coming soon) - Reavers #8: Fury Of The Flames Pt I (coming soon) - Reavers #9: Fury Of The Flames Pt II (coming soon) - Reavers #10: The Battlemaster''s Heir (coming soon) - Reavers #11: Captain''s Call (coming soon) - Reavers #12: Powers Of The Ov''l Pt I (coming soon) - Reavers #13: Powers Of The Ov''l Pt II (coming soon) ARC 1 - THE NEST OF DESPAIR - Reavers #1: The Nest Of Despair Pt I (coming soon) - Reavers #2: The Nest Of Despair Pt II (coming soon) Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. - Reavers #3: The Nest Of Despair Pt III (coming soon) - Reavers #4: The Nest Of Despair Pt IV (coming soon) - Reavers #5: The Nest Of Despair Pt V (coming soon) - Reavers #6: The Nest Of Despair Pt VI (coming soon) Reavers #1: The Nest Of Despair Part I ¡®They say it was here the residue was found.¡¯ Hugh Fisher, reaver of Taskforce Delta, zipped up his leather jacket and stepped towards the lift doors. Wrinkles creased his face, and his brown hair was tinged with grey. He examined the whitewashed floors of St Benedict¡¯s Hospital, which shimmered in the bright lights of the corridor. The corridor stank of disinfectant and was empty, besides an old woman sleeping on the bench next to the lift; she snored loudly, saggy jowls rippling with every breath. Hugh¡¯s gaunt face shined off the tiles to greet him as he surveyed the floor. He kept his ears pricked, listening out for footsteps or the buzz of propulsor-lift chairs. The cool voice of Cleo Violet, Overseer of Taskforce Delta, rang down his earpiece. ¡®Residue fits the description of imoort¡¯ala. You know what you¡¯re looking for?¡¯ ¡®Course I do,¡¯ he replied gruffly, rummaging through his jacket pockets. ¡®I know what brain juice looks like ¨C or immortal-whatever-you-want-to-call-it. I¡¯m not a Na?ve, you know.¡¯ Laughter echoed down the earpiece, though it wasn¡¯t Cleo¡¯s. ¡®Jonah sounds like he¡¯s having a good time. Still not sure the world of hexes and reavers is one suitable for a ten-year-old.¡¯ ¡®When you have a son of your own, then you can judge me on my parenting,¡¯ Cleo snapped. ¡®Anyway, he seems to be enjoying himself near enough. He looks up to you, you know.¡¯ Hugh bristled. ¡®That¡¯s not a good thing.¡¯ At last, the hand in his pocket found what it was looking for: a small, greyish-bluish cube, inscribed with runes and glyphs. A hex crystal. He placed it on the floor, and tapped its top side twice. The crystal let out a small whistle, then glowed bright blue, the glow amplified by the harsh reflections off the tiled floor. He felt somewhat more assured after activating the hex crystal; it would protect against the Inbred Attacks of any dream-eaters he came across. Inbred Attacks were some of the deadliest attacks in the hexes¡¯ arsenals ¨C and some of the most difficult to defend against. ¡®Kids should be looking up to heroes: Superman, Luke Skywalker, that humanitarian bloke in the paper. You know, the one who looks a wrong ¡®un but isn¡¯t. People like that.¡¯ ¡®What¡¯s to say you¡¯re not a hero, Hugh?¡¯ He sighed and his face darkened. ¡®Windermere Heights.¡¯ ¡®That was a year ago. Windermere¡­¡¯ He stopped paying attention to what she was saying. It didn¡¯t matter anyway. I¡¯m not a bloody hero. I caused the Windermere massacre. I created Sinchara Khan. Heroes don¡¯t make villains. As Cleo continued down the earpiece, Hugh watched as concentric circles of blue light appeared around the hex crystal, moving away from the crystal like ripples on a pond. A silver glint caught his eye, coming from beneath the bench the old woman was sleeping on. He dropped to one knee to inspect, ducking next to the old woman¡¯s right leg, grimacing as her over-scented perfume flooded his nostrils. Beneath the bench was a small puddle of silvery-translucent liquid. A river of the liquid was running down the wall, feeding the puddle. There seemed to be a great quantity of it. Hugh grimaced. ¡®I¡¯ve found the brain juice,¡¯ he murmured, cutting Cleo off mid-sentence. ¡®Very good ¨C hang on, have you been listening to a word I¡¯ve been saying?¡¯ He let out a brazen chuckle. ¡®No.¡¯ Dipping his fingers in the liquid, feeling it ooze around his digits, he sniffed, then frowned. ¡®I don¡¯t smell any traces of immigren venom in the juice. Not like a dream-eater to not poison its victims.¡¯ Dream-eaters used immigren venom to paralyse their victims. With their prey paralysed, the dream-eaters would devour their victim¡¯s mind and soul, feasting on their memories ¨C the good and the bad ¨C until all that was left was an empty husk. This emotionless form of human was known as a Barren. ¡®Maybe it¡¯s a new type?¡¯ Cleo suggested. ¡®God knows we seem to find a new breed of hex nearly every day.¡¯ Hugh¡¯s brows furrowed deeper. Something¡¯s not right. This brain juice, it looks fresh¡­ He grimaced. No. Something¡¯s not right at all. He paused, thinking. It took him a few seconds to realise what was wrong. The old woman had stopped snoring. He rolled away from the bench and leapt to his feet, eyeing the old woman with wide eyes. Indeed, she was no longer snoring ¨C nor breathing, for that matter. Her jowls were still. Hugh bit his lip, forcing a hard look on his face. While most dream-eaters¡¯ victims were usually left as Barrens, there were some who did not have the strength to live on. Elderly people ¨C much like the woman had been ¨C were the most common to die as a result of a dream-eater attack. Hugh¡¯s face twisted. If only I was a bit quicker, a bit more urgent¡­but it¡¯s too late now. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡®Cleo, I¡¯ve found our dream-eater ¨C and the reason why there¡¯s no poison.¡¯ When targeting the elderly, dream-eaters didn¡¯t need poison. Older people were less alert, less aware of certain things ¨C and a dream-eater sucking out their brains was one of those things. The dream-eater was nearby, though it was hiding, likely semi-immaterial. ¡®There¡¯s only one way to force this thing out into the open.¡¯ Hugh glanced at the old woman¡¯s body, feeling his muscles tense. His eyes sang to her silent apologies as he braced himself. Though dream-eaters needed to be close to their prey to feast, they did not actually feast by physical means. Rather, they formed a strong psychic tether with their victims. This tether would act almost akin to a straw, allowing the dream-eater to consume its prey¡¯s mind. Fire was the antidote to psychic attacks: as Fire Weaving countered Psychic Weaving, so flame could undo the dream-eater¡¯s psychic tether. Hugh crouched beside the old woman and sighed. I¡¯m sorry. He looked up at her, at her creased and wrinkled face, at her eyes which were now clamped shut. She looked to be at peace, resting. Whatever friends and family she had, they would not ever find out what truly happened to her ¨C nor would they even find out that she had died. She would just burn away, existing only in their minds. Hugh rested a hand on her knee. ¡®Irakis,¡¯ he whispered. His hand warmed and flames sprouted from his palm, creeping across the old woman¡¯s body until they engulfed her entirely. Though the Irakis spell was only Simple Form Weaving, it was still powerful enough such that, in a few silent moments, the old woman was nothing more than a black stain on the bench. Hugh grimaced as the bitter smell of burnt flesh clogged his nose. Every cell of the old woman¡¯s body had been ignited and burnt to a cinder; if any part of her had remained unburnt, the dream-eater would have retained its psychic tether. But now, the tether was broken. Right on cue, there was a shriek, loud and piercing. Hugh flinched. It came from behind. He turned to see, emerging like a phantom through the floor, was the dream-eater. The dream-eater was only small, about the size of a dog, with four pawed legs and tail like that of a bobcat, but thicker and longer. A shaggy mane of purplish-black fur covered its body, trailing along the floor. Its head was triangular, feeding into a beaked mouth which clacked open and shut, revealing toothless gums and a slithering, white tongue. At the centre of its head, it had a huge, golden eye, circled by a ring of smaller golden eyes, each narrowed and locked on Hugh. Along its back were small, pinkish protrusions ¨C brainscales; inside these, Hugh knew, was contained brain juice from previous minds the dream-eater had devoured, stored on the hex¡¯s back like fat stored in a camel¡¯s hump. Hugh bristled. Running from the corners of the dream-eater¡¯s mouth were long, pink barbels ¨C psychic barbels ¨C which trailed along the floor like tassles. He eyed them nervously. No matter how weak or low rank a dream-eater was, all reavers had to beware its psychic barbels. The hex crystal would protect against the Inbred Attacks but would not be able to stop the psychic barbels if they got hold of him. Keeping his eyes fixed on the dream-eater, Hugh murmured, ¡®I¡¯m staring at our dream-eater. It¡¯s only weak.¡¯ ¡®How weak?¡¯ Cleo asked. ¡®Weak enough it can phase through floors and walls ¨C I doubt I¡¯ll need to use anything above Simple Form Weaving.¡¯ Only weak hexes could phase through floors and walls; the more powerful hexes, those with higher phantom energy levels, had too much phantom energy to fit between the particles of solids. ¡®It¡¯s a por¡¯ava. I estimate Second Rank,¡¯ Hugh continued. ¡®Nothing better than Fourth could wall-phase, and it seems too small to be of Fourth Rank itself.¡¯ He knew he didn¡¯t have to explain his reasoning to Cleo ¨C he was among Taskforce Delta¡¯s most skilled reavers and knew hexes and Weaving like the back of his hand; but still, doing so calmed him somewhat, reassured him. His ears pricked. Footsteps, coming from behind. Two doctors in white uniforms were coming towards him. One walked, while the other hovered on a propulsor-chair, his legs dangling uselessly in the air. They emerged from an adjacent room, stopping outside the door. Hugh bit his lip. Though hexes remained invisible to normal people ¨C or ¡°Na?ves¡±, as they were known ¨C his spells (¡°Weavings¡±) did not. That made destroying hexes near Na-?ves, while also trying to keep the Reaver Society a secret, very difficult. Though he knew some memory-wipe spells, they were not the most¡­pleasant¡­spells to use. More often than not, they erased a person of not only their memories regarding reavers, Weavings, and hexes, but all their memories ¨C including, in extreme cases, their memories of themselves themselves. Allegedly, a Na?ve had once reacted especially bad to a memory-wipe spell and had forgotten to live ¨C not that Hugh had ever had anything that extreme happen. Either way, memory-wipe spells had a capacity to leave people worse off even than as Barrens. Shouting came from inside the room the two doctors were stood outside. Hugh breathed a sigh of relief as the doctors raced inside, accompanied now by a gaggle of others, who had run out from several other rooms. Soon, the corridor was empty again. As the door to the room slid shut behind them, Hugh turned back to the dream-eater, the por¡¯ava. He gritted his teeth, splaying his palms wide. The por¡¯ava was the first to make a move: its psychic barbels launched towards him; its white, slender tongue enlengthened and slashed at him. A tri-attack. Hugh almost smiled to himself. Predictable. Hugh reacted swiftly, ducking beneath the two barbels, which curved past him. As the white tongue lanced towards him, he sidestepped out of its path, reached out, and grabbed it in a tight, white fist. ¡®Irakis,¡¯ he growled, and the tongue set alight. The flames were quick, and soon the entire tongue was aflame, right the way from the tip into the por¡¯ava¡¯s mouth. The dream-eater squealed. He splayed his palm towards the dream-eater. ¡®Furrest.¡¯ The por¡¯ava shrieked, then disintegrated to dust. ¡®That was easier than I thought,¡¯ said Hugh, wiping a solitary sweat drop from his forehead. ¡®Two spells and it was done.¡¯ ¡®It was Second Rank ¨C what did you expect?¡¯ Cleo retorted. ¡®It was weak for a Second Rank. Didn¡¯t even need to cast any protective spells to deal with the barbels ¨C its attacks were slow enough I could dodge them.¡¯ He reached to pick the hex crystal cube off the floor, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. He sighed. ¡®Crystal¡¯s stuck. Still more dream-eaters here. I thought the dream-eater was too weak to be out here acting on its own ¨C there must be a nest.¡¯ Only strong hexes ever worked on their own ¨C and that in itself was rare. Usually, hexes came from nests; almost all hexes First Rank to Fourth Rank ¨C the weakest hexes ¨C operated in nests. ¡®I¡¯ll try to find it. Hope it¡¯s not too big.¡¯ But before he could do anything, someone yelled from behind, ¡®Help! Please! Help!¡¯ Reavers #2: The Nest Of Despair Pt II The boy ¨C roughly eighteen years of age, with blonde hair and a grease-stained face ¨C approached the counter, striding across the whitewashed floor. He shivered. The hospital stank of disinfectant and death. Neither were particularly nice smells. The woman at the counter beamed at him. ¡®Hello, dear, how may I help?¡¯ Her voice was soft and kind. ¡®Hi, I¡¯m George Marsh.¡¯ The boy¡¯s voice was somewhat high-pitched, with a certain tremor to it. ¡®My sister, Lilly Marsh, is in the hospital. I wanted to know what ward she¡¯s in.¡¯ The woman¡¯s smile did not falter. ¡®I¡¯m going to need ID before I can tell you that.¡¯ He smiled and obliged her request, handing over his ID. The woman muttered to herself, scrolling on her computer. After a few seconds, she returned his ID to him, smiled, and said, ¡®Everything looks to be in order. She¡¯s in Ward Thirteen, just up the stairs.¡¯ George thanked her, and just as he was about to go, the doors behind him whirred open. A hover-bed, accompanied by what looked to be flying, metal cubes, hurtled inside. On closer inspection, the cubes had screens on one of their sides, displaying a digital face. The cubes also had thin metal arms, which they used to pull the hover-bed after them. The woman at the counter did not flinch at them as they approached. ¡®Ward Two.¡¯ Her voice was suddenly much harder now, much firmer. As she glanced at the person on the hover-bed, she paled. George followed her gaze, and in turn, his skin blanched as well. The person on the bed could hardly have been called a person. Their arms and legs had each been torn off, leaving only bloody stumps and a torso. Half their head was missing; it looked as though the remaining part had been chewed. Void Beasts, George thought, grimacing. He felt as though he was about to throw up, but forced himself not to. As the hover-bed rushed past him and disappeared down the adjacent corridor, George sighed. He thanked the woman again and left, headed for Ward Thirteen. After walking up the steps to the first floor, he found Ward Thirteen a few moments later. When he strode inside, door sliding shut behind him with a thunk, he found Lilly, lying on a bed beside a cluster of machinery and tended to by a pair of doctors. She looked weak, pale, and emaciated, a far cry from the strong, vigorous woman George had known in his youth. Her eyes were heavy and bagged, and her hair had been shaved off in favour of a glinting, bald head. George¡¯s eyes widened and he raced to her side, pushing past the two doctors, who exclaimed irritably. ¡®Sorry I haven¡¯t been here for so long ¨C things cropped up at work ¨C we had a baron¡¯s spacer come¨C¡¯ ¡®It¡¯s fine.¡¯ Her voice was weak, frail, though a hidden strength still remained to it. George turned over his shoulder to the man who looked like the head doctor. ¡®Please can you leave? I ¨C I¡¯d like to speak alone.¡¯ The man nodded and exchanged a few brisk words with the other doctor in the room, who was seated on a repulsor-chair, before they left. As the door slid shut behind them, George sighed. ¡®So, you had the surgery, then?¡¯ he asked, nodding at her bald head. The last time he had been here, she¡¯d still had her hair, her long, auburn locks. It would take some time to get used to her without hair, but he didn¡¯t stare, for her sake. So long as it worked, he was happy. So long as it worked. ¡®I¡­Yes, I had the surgery¡­¡¯ Her voice seemed weaker than it had been before, developing now a certain raspiness to it. George¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡®And¡­did it work?¡¯ Her face darkened. She shook her head. He bowed his head and cursed. ¡®All this technology, and they still can¡¯t get rid of tumours. If they invested more in medical technology rather than trying to make fast spacers¡­¡¯ His voice trailed off as she rested a hand on his shoulder; it felt cold to the touch, like ice. He looked up at her, into her deep, brown eyes, filled with intelligence. ¡®You cannot blame anyone,¡¯ she said. ¡®It was God¡¯s doing.¡¯ He wiped tears from his eyes. ¡®Then God is evil.¡¯ She smiled slightly. ¡®Maybe so. Or maybe humanity is evil and this is our reckoning.¡¯ ¡®But you¡¯re not evil¨C¡¯ He gasped sharply and the words were lost to him. He gulped, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his wells. ¡®But you¡¯re not evil,¡¯ he croaked. ¡®You looked after me, after¡­¡¯ His voice trailed off. ¡®There is sin in every human heart,¡¯ she replied. ¡®And it must be scourged.¡¯ She sighed. ¡®You cannot save me, Georgie. I am going to die soon, and that¡¯s just a fact of it.¡¯ He gritted his teeth. ¡®I will save you. I will save you!¡¯ His words came out as a growl. Lilly shook her head. ¡®No. You cannot. You¨C¡¯ She suddenly let out a feeble gasp and sank deeper into her pillow. She closed her eyes. George¡¯s eyes widened to globes. He shook her. ¡®Lilly? Lilly? Lilly?!¡¯ There was no answer but the wail of the heart monitor as it flatlined. He gasped. An invisible hand wrapped around his throat, squeezing with force enough to crush a mountain. He became dimly aware of a torrent of white-garbed doctors rushing in from outside, jostling him out the way. The sea of noise descended into a sea of roaring silence. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. He left the room, pushing through the sea of white gowns and haggard expressions, slumping against the wall of the outside corridor. Every agonising breath sent a shudder rattling through him. He blinked tears from his eyes and sighed. Lilly¡­Lilly¡­ The very thought of her made his head spin. His mind hurt as though driven through by a thousand needles. Lilly¡­please¡­Lilly¡­no¡­ He spied up ahead, down the corridor, a silhouette. There was a man, stood at the end of the corridor, in front of the lift, back facing him. He looked very strange, just stood there, eyes fixed on the floor. Very little of the man¡¯s features were visible from this angle, besides his leather jacket and brown hair, which was tinged with grey. The man looked altogether very normal ¨C but he was something for George to concentrate on, to anchor himself with. As he concentrated on the man, George¡¯s heartbeat slowed and his breathing grew more even. But as he became more aware of this, he was reminded of his sister, lying dead in the next room. He stifled a sob and bent his head to look down at the floor. Then he felt it: a stabbing pain in his temples. Soon, the pain had swallowed his mind; he felt as though his brain was alight. With a pained gasp, he turned to the man in the leather jacket and shouted, ¡®Help! Please! Help!¡¯ Then his mouth stopped working, and his entire body froze, refusing his commands. He fell to the floor, hitting the white tiles with a sickening thud which resounded through his entire body. His vision blurred and his mind reeled. He heard an exclamation and footsteps, running towards him. There was a man¡¯s voice ¨C gruff, with a steely hardiness to it that could rival titanium ¨C though George could not discern the words. He felt heat along his back, felt his clothes gradually fade away as the heat intensified. Though his face did not show it, his mind was engulfed in alarm. ¡®I¡¯m trying to break the tether,¡¯ came the gruff voice. ¡®Taking a bit of time, as I¡¯m trying to keep the lad alive.¡¯ Mind afoot now with both alarm and confusion, George almost didn¡¯t notice as the mysterious paralysis that had suddenly seeped into his muscles began to fade, until it was gone entirely. With a gasp, he got to his feet, tearing off his half-burnt T-shirt and casting it on the floor. He turned to see the man in the leather jacket stood in front of him. He was gaunt, with a slim face adorned with wrinkles, and a grim demeanour. The man seemed to look through George as if he wasn¡¯t there; his eyes fixed on something behind him. George¡¯s face was scrawled with confusion. ¡®What¡¯s going on?¡¯ He pointed at his half-burnt T-shirt, which lay dejected on the floor. ¡®Why is my T-shirt half-burnt?¡¯ His voice suddenly turned accusatory. ¡®Did you set me on fire?¡¯ If the man noticed him at all, he didn¡¯t show it. His gaze remained fixed on something behind George. ¡®I¡¯ve found a Third Rank, Cleo, a vendig, bit more powerful than the last guy,¡¯ George heard him murmur. ¡®I only hope the nest is a small one.¡¯ George¡¯s frown deepened. ¡®Nest? Nest of what? Hey ¨C answer me!¡¯ The older man cursed. ¡®Go away,¡¯ he snapped. ¡®Get out of here!¡¯ His gaze, once again, remained fixed on something behind George. At last, George¡¯s curiosity could take no more. He wheeled round and gasped as his eyes fixed on a creature the size of a small hippo stood in the middle of the corridor. He pointed at it, shaking. ¡®What ¨C what is that?¡¯ The creature looked like a huge blob of jelly, formed into a somewhat upside-down-teardrop shape. The white lights along the ceiling glinted sharply, reflecting in the creature¡¯s translucent surface, and hanging down from the mid-section of the creature were tendrils of bright-pink, which trailed across the floor. George counted ten in all. The only reason he was certain ¨C as certain, at least, as one could be in such an uncertain situation ¨C that the thing was a creature was by the mound of flesh that clustered at the base of the teardrop. Poking out from the flesh were four stalked eyes and a mouth, spread into a cheesy grin. The other man sighed. ¡®¡­Cleo, I¡¯m sorry¡­The captain¡¯s going to bloody kill me¡­¡¯ George wheeled back to face the stranger. ¡®What do you mean? Who are you talking to? The ¡°captain¡±? ¡°Cleo¡±? What¡¯s going on?¡¯ ¡®That¡¯s a dream-eater, a magical being which feasts on your memories, if you really ought to know,¡¯ the man muttered. ¡®Now stop with the bloody questions.¡¯ He gritted his teeth, watching as the creature suddenly began sliding down the corridor with a squelch. ¡®Why¡¯s it running away?!¡¯ he mused to himself. A ¡°dream-eater¡±? George¡¯s eyes widened. It feasts on my memories? He rifled through his mind, through the memories of his mother, his father, his friends¡­He conjured to mind more memories of his sister and was alarmed to see, despite having seen her alive and well but a few minutes ago, he could no longer recall what she looked like. Lilly ¨C I can¡¯t remember her! He fixed his eyes on the translucent blob of jelly as it slid down the corridor. I can¡¯t¡­remember her¡­ He still felt the pain of her death, though that pain was gradually fading, almost as if his memories of her were gradually disappearing into the ether. The man looked at him, concerned. He shook his head. ¡®You lost memories to that, and I¡¯m sorry, but they¡¯re lost.¡¯ George gritted his teeth, eyes fixed on the creature ¨C ¡°dream-eater¡±, had the man called it? ¨C and shook his head. ¡®Those were memories of my sister ¨C I have to get them back!¡¯ With a guttural roar, he sprinted after the dream-eater, which let out a shrill squeal as he chased after it. He heard footsteps and shouting coming from behind as the man chased after them. The dream-eater suddenly stopped running and turned to face George. Once again, its face was adorned with a cheesy grin. ¡®It was a feint¡­¡¯ George didn¡¯t register the words as they came out of the other man¡¯s mouth. ¡®No! Turn away!¡¯ Filled with fury, George continued towards the dream-eater, teeth gritted, mouth twisted into a snarl. He bunched his fists. Admittedly, he hadn¡¯t thought of a plan of what he would do once he caught up with the dream-eater. With no knowledge of how the dream-eater worked, he had no idea how to get back his lost memories ¨C if doing so was even possible. Maybe if I punch it hard enough¡­I can¡¯t lose my memories of Lilly! He had never been much of a fighter, but still he raced towards the dream-eater, readying his fist to strike. As he neared, he was suddenly aware of the dream-eater¡¯s ten, pink tendrils lancing out towards him. He barely heard the man¡¯s warning. ¡®Don¡¯t let the psychic barbels touch you!¡¯ However, he had little time to comprehend what the man meant. He dropped to the floor as the tendrils swiped at him and rolled towards the creature. Teeth gritted, fists clenched, fire burning down his veins, he swung his fist at what he believed was the dream-eater¡¯s face. As the blow struck flesh, George¡¯s eyes widened as his fist suddenly heated up; a gold glow engulfed his hand, growing in size and intensity until it had engulfed George¡¯s vision. What ¨C what¡¯s happening? Then the gold glow disappeared, and George collapsed to the floor, panting. He got back to his feet, nursing his pounding head. What ¨C what happened? That man¡­the ¡°dream-eater¡±¡­that glow¡­ Every question was like a missile, exploding in his mind. His head ached with pain. George squinted, eyeing nervously where the dream-eater had been. It was there no longer, simply disappeared. Vanished. He looked at his fist. It did not look any different to how it usually looked, and it no longer shone with a golden glow. He frowned. What happened? Did I do something? Or was it the dream-eater? Footsteps came from behind. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder. ¡®I don¡¯t believe it,¡¯ said the man. ¡®Cleo, we have an Ov¡¯l¡­¡¯ George turned to face the man, who wore a mixture of emotions on his face. His mouth was agape and his eyes were wide. But George also spied something else, something lurking behind the man¡¯s eyes. A darkness. George shivered. Reavers #3: The Nest Of Despair Pt III ¡®I don¡¯t believe it.¡¯ Hugh¡¯s voice was hoarse. ¡®Cleo, we have an Ov¡¯l¡­¡¯ His words failed him as the boy turned to face him, looking up at him with his innocent blue eyes. ¡®An Ov¡¯l? Like Sinchara Khan?¡¯ The shock in Cleo¡¯s voice was audible, as were the motes of apprehension. ¡®If that¡¯s the case, you know what you have to do, Hugh.¡¯ Hugh bit his lip. ¡®I know,¡¯ he said softly ¨C soft enough that he hoped the boy wouldn¡¯t be able to hear. The boy must be wiped. ¡®We can¡¯t let there be another Sinchara Khan. We cannot,¡¯ he mumbled to Cleo, almost imperceptibly. It seemed, though, that the boy had at least heard him talking. ¡®What did you say?¡¯ he asked, blue eyes wide. No. Gold eyes. Hugh¡¯s eyes widened as the gold eyes of Sinchara Khan bore down upon him. At once, the bright lights of the hospital dimmed to grey; the tiles cracked beneath the furious evil of the man stood before him, where the boy had just been standing. The other man cackled, wizened face pulling tight as he let out his maniacal laugh. He wore a purplish-black gown which trailed at his ankles; it seemed to waft violently in some terrifying gale, though there was no such gale to be felt. Hugh¡¯s heart turned to ice. For a split-second, the lights vanished, and all that could be seen were those gold eyes, piercing through the gloom. The very last things the victims of the Windermere massacre had every seen. And then the darkness was gone, and the room was how it should be. Where the cackling figure of Sinchara Khan had stood, there now stood only the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy. Yes, that¡¯s right. Blue-eyed, Hugh reminded himself, feeling weight pressing down on his shoulders. Not gold-eyed. Not yet. ¡®The longer he stays without his memory wiped, the harder it will be to wipe it,¡¯ said Cleo. ¡®Or you can kill him.¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m not killing him,¡¯ Hugh snapped. ¡®Battlemaster Val said I was an exception to that, giving my closeness to Sinchara Khan.¡¯ ¡®Then wipe him.¡¯ Cleo¡¯s voice was hard. ¡®You know what the protocol is. You have to wipe him ¨C now. Don¡¯t make the same mistake, Hugh. Sinchara Khan was bad enough. Windermere alone is enough to keep you up at night ¨C could you handle another Windermere?¡¯ Hugh sighed. I thought I¡¯d done it, saved Sinchara from the mania. I was wrong. He sighed again, eyes resting on the boy. His blue eyes gleamed with innocence. He hadn¡¯t done anything, hadn¡¯t attacked or killed anyone. But he would, Hugh knew. In time. All Ov¡¯ls were corrupted. He had to be wiped, so that he knew not anything about hexes and reavers and Weaving. So that he could return to his life, abandoning the Powers of the Ov¡¯l and the evil that came with them. But Hugh couldn¡¯t do it. To wipe the boy¡¯s memory would have unprecedented consequences. He didn¡¯t deserve that. What if he could be controlled? Doubt danced in Hugh¡¯s mind, memories of Sinchara Khan flashing across his eyes. Sinchara Khan couldn¡¯t be controlled ¨C why did he think this new Ov¡¯l could be? Because this time, I will protect him, from the Reaver Society, from the Na?ves, from himself, from everyone. I will prove that Ov¡¯ls can be controlled, used as a force for good. ¡®I won¡¯t wipe him,¡¯ Hugh said at last. ¡®I won¡¯t. Just because he¡¯s an Ov¡¯l doesn¡¯t mean he will end up the same way as Sinchara Khan.¡¯ Cleo paused. ¡®Is that you being optimistic, Hugh? It doesn¡¯t suit you. Wipe him.¡¯ Hugh huffed. ¡®Tell the captain I want to speak with him when this is all done.¡¯ And with that, he pulled his earpiece out, despite Cleo¡¯s protests, threw it on the floor, and ground it under his boot. ¡®I haven¡¯t been in the Society for this long to be told what I can and can¡¯t do.¡¯ He turned to the boy, raising his voice so he could be heard. ¡®What¡¯s your name, lad?¡¯ ¡®George. George Marsh. Pardon my French, sir, but what the fuck is going on?¡¯ Hugh chuckled. ¡®Quite a lot. I¡¯ll explain it for you. Layman¡¯s terms. My name is Hugh Fisher. I¡¯m a reaver, working for Taskforce Delta of the Reaver Society. We reavers hunt down hexes like that fella over there, protect you Na?ves from them ¨C well, I guess you¡¯re not exactly a Na?ve anymore, are you?¡¯ He chuckled. ¡®Hexes are borne of death. Hospitals are a common place for them, as are graveyards, battlegrounds, the like. To defeat hexes and banish them, reavers use Spell Weaving such as this. Irakis.¡¯ A ball of flame sprouted in his hand. He smiled as George gasped, eyes widening in awe. Showing magic to Na?ves never got old. After a few seconds, the flame disappeared. ¡®I¡¯m a Flame Weaver,¡¯ Hugh continued. ¡®My mission here is to eradicate dream-eaters from this hospital. Dream-eaters use psychic attacks to battle and catch their prey; one of the weaknesses of psychic attacks is fire, hence why I was assigned this mission.¡¯ He paused, looking straight into George¡¯s eyes. ¡®Another weakness of psychic attacks is Ov¡¯ls, like you.¡¯ George frowned. ¡®You mean I have¡­powers?¡¯ Hugh nodded. ¡®Indeed. Ov¡¯ls have access to a branch of psychic magic more powerful even than Psychic Weaving. Ov¡¯ls can become the most powerful Weavers ¨C with the right training. Come with me, George, and I will protect and train you. You¡¯ve seen firsthand the power of hexes ¨C and these are the weaker sort. There are so many more hexes hidden in the world, causing so much pain to people. We at the Reaver Society are doing our best to stop them, but with an Ov¡¯l on our side¡­¡¯ He paused. ¡®I need your help. There¡¯s a nest of hexes in this hospital. On my own, I might struggle, but with an Ov¡¯l¡­well¡­¡¯ He smiled. ¡®It¡¯ll be interesting.¡¯ Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. George frowned. ¡®But I¡¯ve never fought hexes before ¨C I don¡¯t know what to do. Why would you want to fight with me?¡¯ Hugh sighed. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t be a bad idea to at least tell some of the truth. ¡®I need you to stay with me, George. Everything I¡¯ve told you is true, about the Reaver Society, hexes, your powers ¨C everything ¨C but there¡¯s one thing I forgot to mention.¡¯ He paused. ¡®Among reavers, Ov¡¯ls are likened to the Devil, which is only made worse by their unpredictability: everyone and no one could become an Ov¡¯l ¨C even someone without Weaving powers. There¡¯s really nothing that triggers it per se. Adding to that, they¡¯re loose cannons.¡¯ ¡®What do you mean?¡¯ ¡®I mean¡­¡¯ Hugh clicked his tongue. ¡®You ever hear about the Carthaginians who used elephants against the Romans? Ov¡¯ls are kind of like the elephants: on a good day, they¡¯ll fight for the right side, but it doesn¡¯t take much for them to go out of control, on a rampage.¡¯ It doesn¡¯t take much for the eyes to go from blue to gold. Hugh repressed a shudder. ¡®Point is, the Reaver Society wants you dead or the equivalent, and I¡¯m the only thing stopping that from happening. But don¡¯t worry; I¡¯ll get it all sorted out with the captain.¡¯ The boy¡¯s eyes widened to such an extent Hugh half-thought his eyeballs were going to pop from their sockets. George shivered. He shook his head. ¡®No, no, what am I? What am I? I don¡¯t want this!¡¯ His breathing grew ragged and he stared at Hugh with wide eyes, wide blue eyes, full of innocence. ¡®You¡¯re a magician ¨C surely you have a spell to wipe my memory¨C¡¯ Hugh sighed and stooped his head to face the floor. ¡®Yes, I do have memory spells. But I won¡¯t use them on you. Ov¡¯ls are incredibly powerful ¨C especially against Psychic Weavings such as memory spells. If I use a memory spell on you, it will have to be one of the strongest. Odds are, not only will you lose the memories of this encounter, but all your memories thereof. Anyone you ever knew. Anyone you ever loved.¡¯ He shook his head. ¡®They would mean nothing to you. You wouldn¡¯t even know their names, ¡®I saw what you did, how you put your life on the line so that you wouldn¡¯t forget your sister, so that the dream-eater couldn¡¯t steal your memories of her. I doubt you¡¯d want that bravery to be in vain.¡¯ George paused, staring up at Hugh for a second, before nodding. ¡®Then¡­I will stay with you. I will survive so that the memory of my sister, of all those people I¡¯ve lost, can endure.¡¯ His gaze hardened. ¡®I won¡¯t go crazy. I won¡¯t. I promise you.¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t make promises you can¡¯t keep,¡¯ Hugh grunted. ¡®You will go crazy, one way or another. It¡¯s just controlling it.¡¯ George nodded. ¡®Alright, then, where is this nest anyway?¡¯ Hugh smiled. ¡®You¡¯re eager, aren¡¯t you?¡¯ Using one of Hugh¡¯s technological contraptions ¨C a shadow map ¨C they were able to locate the hexes¡¯ nest to the lift. When George had asked how the shadow map worked, Hugh had replied, ¡®I darted one of the hexes with a phantom dart before it ran off ¨C can¡¯t use GPS, as they can cloud the signal. The phantom dart emits phantom energy at regular intervals. The shadow map detects the change in phantom energy, hence how we can track it. Phantom energy in hexes and reavers is usually stable, which is why they don¡¯t normally show up on the map.¡¯ Pressing his hands against the lift door, Hugh sighed. ¡®Where the hell is the nest?¡¯ As the lift beeped, his eyes flashed and he stepped aside to let out the people inside, before getting in himself. He gestured for George to follow him. As the doors shut behind them, Hugh examined the map intently. No doubt Cleo would know how to find the nest. I probably shouldn¡¯t have got rid of the earpiece¡­ But he knew keeping the earpiece would have been foolish, unless he wanted Cleo¡¯s jabbering in his ear for the rest of the mission. There¡¯s a lot at stake here. I hope I can square things out with the captain. As the lift trundled upwards, jerking and shuddering and clanking and whirring, he examined the shadow map. Something caught his eye. ¡®Says we¡¯re moving away from the nest, here.¡¯ And then he realised. ¡®Ah, so that¡¯s where the nest is: it¡¯s at the bottom of the lift shaft.¡¯ He clicked his tongue and proffered an arm towards George. ¡®Hold my arm, lad.¡¯ George nodded and took Hugh¡¯s arm. Hugh turned to look at the bottom of the lift. He smiled. These hexes can wall-phase? Well, so can I¡­ He splayed out his palm and gestured across the lift. In an instant, the floor disappeared and they were falling, falling through the endless shadow and black of the lift shaft. He heard, barely perceptible above the roaring wind, George yelp. The boy¡¯s grip on his arm tightened; Hugh half-thought the lad would tear it off outright. He licked his lips, squinting as his eyes scoured the black. He wasn¡¯t scared ¨C he was much too focussed to be scared. He had done this a thousand times, but that didn¡¯t guarantee success. I¡¯ve got to slow us down before we reach the bottom. Trouble is, it¡¯s a tad difficult to actually see the bottom. Can¡¯t use any of my Fire Weaving, that¡¯ll just tell the hexes exactly where we are; just have to rely on my senses, pure and true. Times like this I wish I was a Sense Weaver¡­Darksight would really come useful right about now. A distant glint registered in his vision for only a microsecond. Now! With his index finger, he carved a ¡°U¡± into the air and murmured, ¡®Kyosh.¡¯ At once, the roaring in his ears silenced, and their descent seemed to slow as the Air Weaving kicked into effect. Despite this, George¡¯s grip on his arm remained as tight as ever. Even after they had landed, feet thumping softly against stone, George still held onto him tightly for a few seconds, before eventually letting go. Shakily, the boy looked around and asked, ¡®Where are we?¡¯ Hugh grimaced, looking up as the lift trundled up the lift shaft and away from them, until it had disappeared into the darkness entirely. ¡®The hexes¡¯ lair. The lair of the dream-eaters.¡¯ He could just about make out ahead of them, the dark silhouette of a cave. Its arched entrance towered over them, several times their heights and adorned with craggy rocks. Hugh noticed with an ounce of concern that the arch was perfectly symmetrical. Nestled at the crest of the arch, at its highest point, was a silver gem, which Hugh realised had been what he¡¯d used to time his Air Weaving to save them as they¡¯d fallen down the lift shaft. Hugh bristled. It¡¯s a bloody Dream Arch. Dream Arches were created by placing a Hyporii Gem ¨C the silver gem embedded in the arch which Hugh was now glaring at ¨C in an archway of perfect symmetry. Walking into a place guarded by a Dream Arch was never a wise move; to do so was to surrender your mind to the whims of the dream-eaters populating the area. Dream Arches, due to the scarcity of Hyporii Gems, thankfully, were very rare. No doubt there¡¯s likely a hidden Dream Realm behind there ¨C or even a Thiorn. Hugh grimaced. If there was a Thiorn, then they really were in trouble. He turned to George. ¡®Be wary. Stepping into a dream-eater nest is not a decision to be taken lightly.¡¯ He neglected to mention the presence of the Dream Arch and the likely appearance of a Dream Realm: no doubt, the boy was already terrified enough. ¡®Can you remember how you used your Ov¡¯l powers?¡¯ The boy looked suddenly very unsure of himself and shrugged. ¡®Just punch and hope for the best, right?¡¯ Hugh sighed. ¡°Just punch and hope for the best¡±? Bloody hell. What am I doing? He only wished he could talk to Cleo. She¡¯d know what to do about the Dream Arch. But she¡¯s always ¡°protocol this¡± and ¡°protocol that¡±. If it was up to her, the kid would be dead already. When he¡¯d found Sinchara Khan, he had refused to kill him. Now, he¡¯d found George Marsh, and he refused to kill him. He only hoped this time those blue eyes stayed blue. Reavers #3: The Nest Of Despair Pt III ¡®I don¡¯t believe it.¡¯ Hugh¡¯s voice was hoarse. ¡®Cleo, we have an Ov¡¯l¡­¡¯ His words failed him as the boy turned to face him, looking up at him with his innocent blue eyes. ¡®An Ov¡¯l? Like Sinchara Khan?¡¯ The shock in Cleo¡¯s voice was audible, as were the motes of apprehension. ¡®If that¡¯s the case, you know what you have to do, Hugh.¡¯ Hugh bit his lip. ¡®I know,¡¯ he said softly ¨C soft enough that he hoped the boy wouldn¡¯t be able to hear. The boy must be wiped. ¡®We can¡¯t let there be another Sinchara Khan. We cannot,¡¯ he mumbled to Cleo, almost imperceptibly. It seemed, though, that the boy had at least heard him talking. ¡®What did you say?¡¯ he asked, blue eyes wide. No. Gold eyes. Hugh¡¯s eyes widened as the gold eyes of Sinchara Khan bore down upon him. At once, the bright lights of the hospital dimmed to grey; the tiles cracked beneath the furious evil of the man stood before him, where the boy had just been standing. The other man cackled, wizened face pulling tight as he let out his maniacal laugh. He wore a purplish-black gown which trailed at his ankles; it seemed to waft violently in some terrifying gale, though there was no such gale to be felt. Hugh¡¯s heart turned to ice. For a split-second, the lights vanished, and all that could be seen were those gold eyes, piercing through the gloom. The very last things the victims of the Windermere massacre had every seen. And then the darkness was gone, and the room was how it should be. Where the cackling figure of Sinchara Khan had stood, there now stood only the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy. Yes, that¡¯s right. Blue-eyed, Hugh reminded himself, feeling weight pressing down on his shoulders. Not gold-eyed. Not yet. ¡®The longer he stays without his memory wiped, the harder it will be to wipe it,¡¯ said Cleo. ¡®Or you can kill him.¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m not killing him,¡¯ Hugh snapped. ¡®Battlemaster Val said I was an exception to that, giving my closeness to Sinchara Khan.¡¯ ¡®Then wipe him.¡¯ Cleo¡¯s voice was hard. ¡®You know what the protocol is. You have to wipe him ¨C now. Don¡¯t make the same mistake, Hugh. Sinchara Khan was bad enough. Windermere alone is enough to keep you up at night ¨C could you handle another Windermere?¡¯ Hugh sighed. I thought I¡¯d done it, saved Sinchara from the mania. I was wrong. He sighed again, eyes resting on the boy. His blue eyes gleamed with innocence. He hadn¡¯t done anything, hadn¡¯t attacked or killed anyone. But he would, Hugh knew. In time. All Ov¡¯ls were corrupted. He had to be wiped, so that he knew not anything about hexes and reavers and Weaving. So that he could return to his life, abandoning the Powers of the Ov¡¯l and the evil that came with them. But Hugh couldn¡¯t do it. To wipe the boy¡¯s memory would have unprecedented consequences. He didn¡¯t deserve that. What if he could be controlled? Doubt danced in Hugh¡¯s mind, memories of Sinchara Khan flashing across his eyes. Sinchara Khan couldn¡¯t be controlled ¨C why did he think this new Ov¡¯l could be? Because this time, I will protect him, from the Reaver Society, from the Na?ves, from himself, from everyone. I will prove that Ov¡¯ls can be controlled, used as a force for good. ¡®I won¡¯t wipe him,¡¯ Hugh said at last. ¡®I won¡¯t. Just because he¡¯s an Ov¡¯l doesn¡¯t mean he will end up the same way as Sinchara Khan.¡¯ Cleo paused. ¡®Is that you being optimistic, Hugh? It doesn¡¯t suit you. Wipe him.¡¯ Hugh huffed. ¡®Tell the captain I want to speak with him when this is all done.¡¯ And with that, he pulled his earpiece out, despite Cleo¡¯s protests, threw it on the floor, and ground it under his boot. ¡®I haven¡¯t been in the Society for this long to be told what I can and can¡¯t do.¡¯ He turned to the boy, raising his voice so he could be heard. ¡®What¡¯s your name, lad?¡¯ ¡®George. George Marsh. Pardon my French, sir, but what the fuck is going on?¡¯ Hugh chuckled. ¡®Quite a lot. I¡¯ll explain it for you. Layman¡¯s terms. My name is Hugh Fisher. I¡¯m a reaver, working for Taskforce Delta of the Reaver Society. We reavers hunt down hexes like that fella over there, protect you Na?ves from them ¨C well, I guess you¡¯re not exactly a Na?ve anymore, are you?¡¯ He chuckled. ¡®Hexes are borne of death. Hospitals are a common place for them, as are graveyards, battlegrounds, the like. To defeat hexes and banish them, reavers use Spell Weaving such as this. Irakis.¡¯ A ball of flame sprouted in his hand. He smiled as George gasped, eyes widening in awe. Showing magic to Na?ves never got old. After a few seconds, the flame disappeared. ¡®I¡¯m a Flame Weaver,¡¯ Hugh continued. ¡®My mission here is to eradicate dream-eaters from this hospital. Dream-eaters use psychic attacks to battle and catch their prey; one of the weaknesses of psychic attacks is fire, hence why I was assigned this mission.¡¯ He paused, looking straight into George¡¯s eyes. ¡®Another weakness of psychic attacks is Ov¡¯ls, like you.¡¯ George frowned. ¡®You mean I have¡­powers?¡¯ Hugh nodded. ¡®Indeed. Ov¡¯ls have access to a branch of psychic magic more powerful even than Psychic Weaving. Ov¡¯ls can become the most powerful Weavers ¨C with the right training. Come with me, George, and I will protect and train you. You¡¯ve seen firsthand the power of hexes ¨C and these are the weaker sort. There are so many more hexes hidden in the world, causing so much pain to people. We at the Reaver Society are doing our best to stop them, but with an Ov¡¯l on our side¡­¡¯ He paused. ¡®I need your help. There¡¯s a nest of hexes in this hospital. On my own, I might struggle, but with an Ov¡¯l¡­well¡­¡¯ He smiled. ¡®It¡¯ll be interesting.¡¯ The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. George frowned. ¡®But I¡¯ve never fought hexes before ¨C I don¡¯t know what to do. Why would you want to fight with me?¡¯ Hugh sighed. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t be a bad idea to at least tell some of the truth. ¡®I need you to stay with me, George. Everything I¡¯ve told you is true, about the Reaver Society, hexes, your powers ¨C everything ¨C but there¡¯s one thing I forgot to mention.¡¯ He paused. ¡®Among reavers, Ov¡¯ls are likened to the Devil, which is only made worse by their unpredictability: everyone and no one could become an Ov¡¯l ¨C even someone without Weaving powers. There¡¯s really nothing that triggers it per se. Adding to that, they¡¯re loose cannons.¡¯ ¡®What do you mean?¡¯ ¡®I mean¡­¡¯ Hugh clicked his tongue. ¡®You ever hear about the Carthaginians who used elephants against the Romans? Ov¡¯ls are kind of like the elephants: on a good day, they¡¯ll fight for the right side, but it doesn¡¯t take much for them to go out of control, on a rampage.¡¯ It doesn¡¯t take much for the eyes to go from blue to gold. Hugh repressed a shudder. ¡®Point is, the Reaver Society wants you dead or the equivalent, and I¡¯m the only thing stopping that from happening. But don¡¯t worry; I¡¯ll get it all sorted out with the captain.¡¯ The boy¡¯s eyes widened to such an extent Hugh half-thought his eyeballs were going to pop from their sockets. George shivered. He shook his head. ¡®No, no, what am I? What am I? I don¡¯t want this!¡¯ His breathing grew ragged and he stared at Hugh with wide eyes, wide blue eyes, full of innocence. ¡®You¡¯re a magician ¨C surely you have a spell to wipe my memory¨C¡¯ Hugh sighed and stooped his head to face the floor. ¡®Yes, I do have memory spells. But I won¡¯t use them on you. Ov¡¯ls are incredibly powerful ¨C especially against Psychic Weavings such as memory spells. If I use a memory spell on you, it will have to be one of the strongest. Odds are, not only will you lose the memories of this encounter, but all your memories thereof. Anyone you ever knew. Anyone you ever loved.¡¯ He shook his head. ¡®They would mean nothing to you. You wouldn¡¯t even know their names, ¡®I saw what you did, how you put your life on the line so that you wouldn¡¯t forget your sister, so that the dream-eater couldn¡¯t steal your memories of her. I doubt you¡¯d want that bravery to be in vain.¡¯ George paused, staring up at Hugh for a second, before nodding. ¡®Then¡­I will stay with you. I will survive so that the memory of my sister, of all those people I¡¯ve lost, can endure.¡¯ His gaze hardened. ¡®I won¡¯t go crazy. I won¡¯t. I promise you.¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t make promises you can¡¯t keep,¡¯ Hugh grunted. ¡®You will go crazy, one way or another. It¡¯s just controlling it.¡¯ George nodded. ¡®Alright, then, where is this nest anyway?¡¯ Hugh smiled. ¡®You¡¯re eager, aren¡¯t you?¡¯ Using one of Hugh¡¯s technological contraptions ¨C a shadow map ¨C they were able to locate the hexes¡¯ nest to the lift. When George had asked how the shadow map worked, Hugh had replied, ¡®I darted one of the hexes with a phantom dart before it ran off ¨C can¡¯t use GPS, as they can cloud the signal. The phantom dart emits phantom energy at regular intervals. The shadow map detects the change in phantom energy, hence how we can track it. Phantom energy in hexes and reavers is usually stable, which is why they don¡¯t normally show up on the map.¡¯ Pressing his hands against the lift door, Hugh sighed. ¡®Where the hell is the nest?¡¯ As the lift beeped, his eyes flashed and he stepped aside to let out the people inside, before getting in himself. He gestured for George to follow him. As the doors shut behind them, Hugh examined the map intently. No doubt Cleo would know how to find the nest. I probably shouldn¡¯t have got rid of the earpiece¡­ But he knew keeping the earpiece would have been foolish, unless he wanted Cleo¡¯s jabbering in his ear for the rest of the mission. There¡¯s a lot at stake here. I hope I can square things out with the captain. As the lift trundled upwards, jerking and shuddering and clanking and whirring, he examined the shadow map. Something caught his eye. ¡®Says we¡¯re moving away from the nest, here.¡¯ And then he realised. ¡®Ah, so that¡¯s where the nest is: it¡¯s at the bottom of the lift shaft.¡¯ He clicked his tongue and proffered an arm towards George. ¡®Hold my arm, lad.¡¯ George nodded and took Hugh¡¯s arm. Hugh turned to look at the bottom of the lift. He smiled. These hexes can wall-phase? Well, so can I¡­ He splayed out his palm and gestured across the lift. In an instant, the floor disappeared and they were falling, falling through the endless shadow and black of the lift shaft. He heard, barely perceptible above the roaring wind, George yelp. The boy¡¯s grip on his arm tightened; Hugh half-thought the lad would tear it off outright. He licked his lips, squinting as his eyes scoured the black. He wasn¡¯t scared ¨C he was much too focussed to be scared. He had done this a thousand times, but that didn¡¯t guarantee success. I¡¯ve got to slow us down before we reach the bottom. Trouble is, it¡¯s a tad difficult to actually see the bottom. Can¡¯t use any of my Fire Weaving, that¡¯ll just tell the hexes exactly where we are; just have to rely on my senses, pure and true. Times like this I wish I was a Sense Weaver¡­Darksight would really come useful right about now. A distant glint registered in his vision for only a microsecond. Now! With his index finger, he carved a ¡°U¡± into the air and murmured, ¡®Kyosh.¡¯ At once, the roaring in his ears silenced, and their descent seemed to slow as the Air Weaving kicked into effect. Despite this, George¡¯s grip on his arm remained as tight as ever. Even after they had landed, feet thumping softly against stone, George still held onto him tightly for a few seconds, before eventually letting go. Shakily, the boy looked around and asked, ¡®Where are we?¡¯ Hugh grimaced, looking up as the lift trundled up the lift shaft and away from them, until it had disappeared into the darkness entirely. ¡®The hexes¡¯ lair. The lair of the dream-eaters.¡¯ He could just about make out ahead of them, the dark silhouette of a cave. Its arched entrance towered over them, several times their heights and adorned with craggy rocks. Hugh noticed with an ounce of concern that the arch was perfectly symmetrical. Nestled at the crest of the arch, at its highest point, was a silver gem, which Hugh realised had been what he¡¯d used to time his Air Weaving to save them as they¡¯d fallen down the lift shaft. Hugh bristled. It¡¯s a bloody Dream Arch. Dream Arches were created by placing a Hyporii Gem ¨C the silver gem embedded in the arch which Hugh was now glaring at ¨C in an archway of perfect symmetry. Walking into a place guarded by a Dream Arch was never a wise move; to do so was to surrender your mind to the whims of the dream-eaters populating the area. Dream Arches, due to the scarcity of Hyporii Gems, thankfully, were very rare. No doubt there¡¯s likely a hidden Dream Realm behind there ¨C or even a Thiorn. Hugh grimaced. If there was a Thiorn, then they really were in trouble. He turned to George. ¡®Be wary. Stepping into a dream-eater nest is not a decision to be taken lightly.¡¯ He neglected to mention the presence of the Dream Arch and the likely appearance of a Dream Realm: no doubt, the boy was already terrified enough. ¡®Can you remember how you used your Ov¡¯l powers?¡¯ The boy looked suddenly very unsure of himself and shrugged. ¡®Just punch and hope for the best, right?¡¯ Hugh sighed. ¡°Just punch and hope for the best¡±? Bloody hell. What am I doing? He only wished he could talk to Cleo. She¡¯d know what to do about the Dream Arch. But she¡¯s always ¡°protocol this¡± and ¡°protocol that¡±. If it was up to her, the kid would be dead already. When he¡¯d found Sinchara Khan, he had refused to kill him. Now, he¡¯d found George Marsh, and he refused to kill him. He only hoped this time those blue eyes stayed blue. Reavers #4: The Nest Of Despair Pt IV The sound of dripping water echoed through the cave, eerily in time with the thuds of their boots as they strode across the black stone. George repressed a shiver; it was cold down here, and damp too ¨C neither of which he found especially pleasant. Following behind Hugh, he threw a questioning glance the reaver¡¯s way. ¡®Not long now,¡¯ said Hugh, answering George¡¯s question before it had even been uttered. He¡¯s said that for at least the last ten minutes, George thought ruefully. He exclaimed as his foot caught a pebble and he tripped. As he reached for the side of the cave for balance, a strong hand grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet. George gasped, looking up. Hugh¡¯s face, bearing a clenched jaw and furrowed brows, leered back at him. ¡®What did I tell you about touching the cave walls? This isn¡¯t a cave, not like you think it is. If you touch those walls, not even I could save you.¡¯ George recalled what Hugh had said earlier, when they¡¯d first passed under the Dream Arch and entered the cave. The reaver ¨C almost immediately as they¡¯d entered the cave ¨C had turned to him and said, ¡®It¡¯s like I thought: we¡¯ve entered a Dream Realm, a pocket dimension inhabited by dream-eaters and infused with psychic and phantom energies ¨C though it¡¯s the former you should be more concerned about.¡¯ The man¡¯s tone had suddenly hardened. ¡®Don¡¯t touch anything ¨C not even the walls. While everything may look and feel real, it is not. Pocket dimensions are not real; they are simply illusions, and Dream Realms are no different ¨C only more dangerous. If you touch those walls, you will become theirs. The dream-eaters will ravage your mind and tear out your soul, ¡®You know those Barrens I was telling you about earlier? Well, you¡¯ll end up just like them, only you won¡¯t last anywhere near as long: only beings with psychic and phantom activity can survive in a Dream Realm, and Barrens have neither. Once the dream-eaters are finished with you, you¡¯ll have about a minute to live as a Barren before your head explodes, overwhelmed by the Dream Realm¡¯s psychic energies.¡¯ He had sighed. ¡®No reaver has ever survived flesh contact with a Dream Realm. Ov¡¯l or not, you should be careful.¡¯ Back when Hugh had first told him, George had nodded obediently and continued after him into the cave; this time, however, after what was beginning to feel like an endless slog through shadows, he was feeling considerably more irritable. He pushed Hugh¡¯s hand away and retorted, ¡®I don¡¯t need saving. You said it yourself: I¡¯m an Ov¡¯l, which means I¡¯m powerful. I don¡¯t need anyone to save me.¡¯ ¡®You¡¯re untrained,¡¯ Hugh replied through gritted teeth. ¡®You may be powerful, but it¡¯s experience which makes the best reavers ¨C not power.¡¯ ¡®That¡¯s only what someone who was weak would say,¡¯ George retorted. ¡®That¡¯s the sort of thing my dad used to say. Fat lot of good his ¡°experience¡± did when Rod and his boys came by the house asking for trouble¨C¡¯ He cut himself off. Talking about his father was never a happy conversation. Hugh was silent for a second, eyes hard. ¡®Shut up and follow me. If you want to be treated with respect, don¡¯t cling to me like some helpless infant all the time.¡¯ As Hugh turned away, George sighed. Lilly said that to me sometimes, too. She was struggling after what happened, just like me ¨C and my over-dependence on her didn¡¯t help. His eyes filled with tears at the thought of his sister. He noted with relief that he could still remember what she looked like; losing those memories to the dream-eater ¨C a ¡°vendig¡±, Hugh had called it ¨C had shaken him up. You were right, Lilly, I couldn¡¯t rely on you forever ¨C and I shouldn¡¯t have relied on you for so long either. He looked ahead at the dark silhouette of Hugh, visible only by the glint of his leather jacket. Just like I shouldn¡¯t have to rely on Hugh. I didn¡¯t rely on him to defeat the dream-eater, so why must I rely on him now? He bunched his fists. I am my own man! Adrenaline coursed down his veins like liquid lightning. He marched forwards, overtaking Hugh and storming into the blackness. ¡®Hey! Don¡¯t go on too far!¡¯ Hugh called after him. George ignored him. He was his own man, after all ¨C he didn¡¯t take orders from anyone. Hugh jogged to catch up with him and cast George a glance of slight bewilderment. ¡®What¡¯s got into you?¡¯ George didn¡¯t reply, furiously marching through the dark. Hugh grunted something under his breath, then turned away, walking alongside him. As they continued through the cave, they soon came across an inkling of green light. As they approached, the green light grew until it engulfed the cavern in its ill glow. The green light came from an opening in the cave wall. Hugh peered through the opening, making sure not to rest any part of his body on the stone, then turned back to George; the look on the older man¡¯s face did nothing to quash George¡¯s nerves. George decided, against his better judgement, to take a look for himself. The opening fed into a large chasm, as wide as three buses lined end-on-end and at least twice as tall. It was carved from the same jagged black rock as they¡¯d been walking over for the lasthalf an hour, which twinkled like onyx, shining with reflected green light. The gentle pitter-patter of running water echoed through the cave. As George looked through the opening, he spied the source of the luminescent green glow; his eyes widened to globes. Sat at the centre of the chasm on a sharp pedestal of rock was a bright-green, egglike structure. It was huge (at least twice his size, he reckoned) and dimly reminded him of some of the dinosaur eggs he¡¯d seen at the Marsheton Museum ¨C except, of course, that those dinosaur eggs did not glow green. He also noticed a plethora of greyish-brown rootlike structures snaking across the walls, feeding into the egglike structure at the centre of the chasm. ¡®A delaeon,¡¯ said Hugh, pointing at the glowing egglike structure. ¡®That¡¯s where the dream-eaters keep the souls they steal. It¡¯s like a larder of sorts. The dream-eaters are bound-by-life to the delaeon by their psychic tethers.¡¯ ¡®But where are the dream-eaters?¡¯ George asked. Hugh answered his question by pointing at the cave floor. As George looked down at the floor, he gasped ¨C the floor was moving, writhing, and squirming! But as he looked closer, he saw the floor itself wasn¡¯t moving; rather, there were a plethora of odd-shaped creatures wriggling across it. Their chatter and footsteps echoed through the cave. He spied creatures like the one he had fought back up in the hospital ¨C ¡°vendigs¡±. Their translucent, teardrop-shaped bodies shimmered in the delaeon¡¯s green light. He also spied others of different shapes: doglike creatures with shaggy, purple fur, wearing what looked to be brains on their backs ¨C though he convinced himself they couldn¡¯t possibly be brains ¨C and large apes with round heads and single golden eyes. Like the vendigs, they had pink ¡°psychic barbels¡± ¨C the doglike creatures had one at each corner of their mouth, while the apes¡¯ were wrapped around their wrists. As George eyed the creatures, Hugh told him their names: the doglike creatures, he learned, were ¡°por¡¯avas¡±, and the apes were ¡°cothelids¡±. George was so immersed in watching the dream-eaters scurry about the chasm that he didn¡¯t notice his hand inching closer and closer to the cave wall. Luckily though, Hugh spotted it. Two strong hands gripped George¡¯s shoulders and pulled him away, just before his hand could touch the wall. George turned to see Hugh looking at him, face grim. ¡®Don¡¯t touch the walls,¡¯ the reaver warned sternly. George nodded. ¡®So, how do we destroy this Dream Realm, then?¡¯ he asked in a hushed whisper. ¡®There is no way to truly destroy a Dream Realm,¡¯ Hugh replied. ¡®Their number is fixed and has always been so, ever since the Psychic Abandonment of Tissain ¨C an event too complicated for me to explain right now. The trick is to shrink them down so they cannot harm anyone ¨C not that this solution is permanent. The size of a Dream Realm is proportional to the amount of psychic energy connected to it.¡¯ He gestured at the various dream-eaters as they scurried across the floor of the chasm. ¡®It relies on the energies of these dream-eaters to sustain its size. If we removed the dream-eaters¡¯ psychic energies, the Realm would collapse on itself, with only enough psychic energy to maintain its existence.¡¯ George¡¯s eyes widened in alarm. ¡®And what about us? Would we not be crushed?¡¯ Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Hugh shook his head. ¡®As long as we remain in the Dream Realm, it would remain large enough for us to exist in, at least until we left it.¡¯ He gestured at the delaeon. ¡®The delaeon exists only because of the dream-eaters¡¯ psychic tethers to it; itself, it contributes nothing to the psychic energies of the Dream Realm. Still, if we destroy it, we can destroy the Dream Realm¨C¡¯ ¡®¨Cbecause the dream-eaters are bound-by-life to their delaeon, and will die if they are separated,¡¯ George finished. Hugh looked at him, grim face splitting into the barest of smiles. ¡®Nice to see you¡¯re paying attention.¡¯ He paused. ¡®Close your eyes,¡¯ he said. At George¡¯s questioning glance, he added, ¡®Just do it.¡¯ Reluctantly, George closed his eyes. His world was thrust into black ¨C lit only by the barest hint of the delaeon¡¯s green light as it pierced his eyelids. ¡®Now,¡¯ Hugh continued. ¡®Slow your breathing. Slow your thinking. Slow everything. And feel.¡¯ Though he felt an idiot doing so, George obliged Hugh¡¯s request, using a meditative breathing technique Lilly had taught him. His mind roared with activity; using another meditative technique ¨C ¡°mental singing¡± ¨C he was able to silence his mind by projecting a mental song through his mind. And then it was as if his eyes had been opened. As if a whole new world had exposed itself to him. He looked around and could see the chasm, though he could not see any rocks. All he could see was voids, everywhere, absences of psychic activity. Though he could see the shapes of the rocks, the rocks themselves were made of nothing but empty space. As he turned to face Hugh, he suddenly saw, floating before the voids, a bright ball of white light in place of where Hugh was standing. He turned to look into the chasm in which the delaeon sat and was forced to squint for the sheer blinding-ness of the light which had enveloped the chasm. There were so many balls of light, each brighter than the last, which seemed to fuse into a huge block of blinding light. It was beautiful ¨C magnificent, even, ethereal¡­ He looked down at himself, seeing the bright light ¨C akin to Hugh¡¯s ¨C nestled in his chest. His body appeared as grey, almost formless and barely visible. His mouth gaped, awed. ¡®You can see it, can¡¯t you? The psychic activity ¨C you can see it.¡¯ Hugh¡¯s voice seemed to come from far off, though George knew the reaver was stood right next to him. ¡®Again, the power of the Ov¡¯l awes me. Now, my psychic activity ¨C can you see it?¡¯ ¡®The white ball of light, you mean?¡¯ ¡®Yes, yes. The dream-eaters can see psychic activity, just like you can ¨C when they bother to look, that is ¨C so we must mask ours. Rather, you must mask ours.¡¯ George frowned, eying the white ball of light which was Hugh psychic energy with apprehension. ¡®How do I do that?¡¯ ¡®No idea,¡¯ Hugh replied. ¡®Figure it out. You¡¯re the Ov¡¯l.¡¯ George sighed, looking across at the bright ball of light that marked Hugh¡¯s psychic activity. These Ov¡¯l powers of his ¨C he could still barely believe they were real. But they were very real, as his earlier encounter with the vendig had shown. Believing in his powers was one thing, but being able to use them was another matter entirely ¨C and Hugh wasn¡¯t exactly the most forthcoming of teachers. Learnt the grand sum of nothing from him, so far, George thought wryly. He wasn¡¯t exactly sure how he was supposed to mask Hugh¡¯s psychic activity, but he had to try nonetheless. They had to collapse this Dream Realm; he¡¯d seen firsthand the power of a single dream-eater, with its ability to steal his memories, and here there must have been nearly a hundred of them in all. A hundred winking lights, circling around the great miasma of glistening psychic energies that was the delaeon. Let¡¯s try this¡­ George reached towards the bright ball of light that marked Hugh¡¯s psychic activity, keeping fixed in his mind the notion of shrouding the psychic energy from detection. He strained, but nothing happened. He opted next for a different angle, reaching and touching the white light. It felt ice-cold to the touch; and as George touched it, flashes of icy heat burned at his mind. He winced, iamges flashing across his mind. The darkness roiled, and suddenly out came a man he didn¡¯t recognise, in a purplish cloak and with long, black hair. But these weren¡¯t his most distinguishing features; no, for that was the man¡¯s bright, golden eyes, gleaming like miniature suns. Instantly, in George¡¯s mind the name ¡°Sinchara Khan¡± was spurned. But he did not know anyone by that name. He tensed, feeling his hairs prick like porcupine spines all over his body. A shudder passed down his spine as the man¡¯s golden eyes fixed upon him. The air turned to molten ice, sizzling and freezing George¡¯s skin. George may not have been very experienced with this new world of hexes and reavers, but he knew evil when he saw it. At the sight of George, the man smiled. Then, as quick as the image had appeared, it was gone, and Sinchara Khan faded away. George inhaled sharply, breath quivering. The man was gone, but it still felt as though he was there. The air remained icily molten, and those gold eyes still shone in his mind. ¡®Lad, you good?¡¯ came Hugh¡¯s voice, distant and away. George nodded, breathing shakily, feeling the colour return to his cheeks. ¡®Yeah ¨C yes, I¡¯m good.¡¯ That man ¨C Sinchara Khan ¨C had appeared after he had touched Hugh¡¯s psychic energy. George couldn¡¯t help wonder if the two were related ¨C Hugh Fisher and Sinchara Khan. But he put that aside for now. Other things needed his attention. Again, he grasped Hugh¡¯s psychic energy. This time, no dark figure emerged to greet him. George willed for the psychic energies to hide themselves, and they did, obeying his command. A silvery veil fluttered from beneath George''s fingernails and shrouded the ball of light form view. George could still feel Hugh¡¯s psychic energies, but they were now hidden. He did the same for his own psychic energies, before opening his eyes to see Hugh looking at him grimly. ¡®So that was your first excursion to the Psychic Realm,¡¯ said Hugh. ¡®Like Dream Realms, the Psychic Realm is a pocket dimension. It is the source of the Ov¡¯ls¡¯ powers, the servant of the Ov¡¯ls. But beware, George, for you cannot let that power go to your head. Ever.¡¯ His grim look faded into a smile. ¡®Good job. An Ov¡¯l¡¯s Psychic Mask lasts for about half an hour ¨C plenty of time. Now that our psychic presences are masked, the dream-eaters will think we were just unlucky civilians who wound up turning into Barrens. Barrens can only survive a minute or so in a Dream Realm, so if we stay past that minute, the dream-eaters will begin to wonder why we are still alive and our brains not splattered across the stone.¡¯ Pleasant thought, George mused as he followed Hugh through the opening in the cave wall and into the chasm. Compared to how the chasm had looked in the Psychic Realm, it looked markedly less wondrous now, back in the Dream Realm. As they¡¯d begun walking, George¡¯s instinct had been to shuffle slowly ¨C almost like a zombie ¨C in an effort to impersonate the Barrens. However, Hugh had told him that, while the Barrens had lost their minds and souls, they still retained access to their full motor functions. ¡°They¡¯re not quite zombies, but they¡¯re pretty close,¡¯ Hugh had said. After that, George had opted to walk normally, and thus far, none of the dream-eaters had paid him or Hugh any mind. Most ignored them, while a few of the more curious ones looked curiously at them for a few seconds, before quickly losing interest. There was one dream-eater, though ¨C an apelike cothelid ¨C whose curious gaze lasted a little more than just a few seconds. A shiver ran down George¡¯s spine. He gulped. The cothelid¡¯s single golden eye narrowed, looking George up and down. A haggard breath slipped out from George¡¯s lips. It knows. He was sure of it. It knows we¡¯re not Barrens. Almost as if sensing his panic, Hugh turned back to him. ¡®Quench your fear,¡¯ he murmured out the corner of his mouth, lips barely moving. He nodded at one of the nearby dream-eaters, one of the upside-down-teardrop vendigs, who was peering inquisitively along with the cothelid at the pair of them. ¡®They can sense your fear.¡¯ George nodded slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He exhaled sharply, fixing his gaze on the glowing egg-shaped delaeon ahead of them and gritting his teeth. He could feel the delaeon now, almost pressing into his mind, almost as if pressing him for answers as to who they were and where their psychic presence was. He closed his eyes to see the briefest flash of white light appear where Hugh was stood, slipping out from beneath the silvery veil. But that brief flash was enough. When he opened his eyes again, he saw, with an audible gasp, all the dream-eaters¡¯ eyes were fixed on them. With a yelp, he raced forwards, to Hugh, just as one of the dream-eaters ¨C a vendig ¨C leapt at them, spinning, its ten psychic barbels twisting through the cave towards them. The reaver reacted swiftly in a calm and efficient manner: he twisted and launched a fireball from his palm into the creature¡¯s translucent face. The vendig shrieked and collapsed to the stone, its jellified flesh blackened and scorched. At once, the other dream-eaters leapt to attack. Hugh turned to George, brow furrowed. ¡®Run!¡¯ With one hand propelling a line of fire at the dream-eaters, he pointed with his other in the direction of the delaeon. At once, George gritted teeth and ran for the delaeon, sprinting past Hugh as he did. As he passed by the reaver, Hugh thrust what seemed to be a hollow metal cube into his hand. ¡®That¡¯ll destroy it!¡¯ Hugh yelled, batting away one of the vendigs with what looked to be a sword made entirely of fire and slicing through another doglike por¡¯ava. ¡®Don¡¯t touch the delaeon!¡¯ the reaver called as George sprinted away. Above them, the orange light of Hugh¡¯s flames and the ghostly green glow of the delaeon did battle, twisting and twirling across the cave ceiling as Hugh fought the dream-eater tide. Dodging a pouncing por¡¯ava, whose two psychic barbels narrowly missed the top of George¡¯s head, George raced forward, fixing his eyes on the delaeon ahead of him, holding the metal cube Hugh had given him in a tight fist. He barely noticed the dream-eater hordes as he ran, barely noticed their fleshy psychic barbels as they lanced towards him. His boots pounded against the stone like thunderclaps; his heart beat in his chest, clubbing against his ribcage. As he reached the delaeon, he threw the metal cube; there was a squelch as it struck the delaeon¡¯s soft flesh. However, carried forward by momentum, George could not stop himself. His foot snagged on one of the rootlike structures on the cave floor and he toppled forwards. His eyes widened as he saw his hand pressed into the green flesh of the delaeon. Little by little, the feeling of brushing against wet silk spread through his hand as the delaeon engulfed it. In seconds, his entire arm was submerged in the green flesh, and soon, his entire body. Only his head remained, poking out from the voluminous egg; seconds later, he let out a final desperate yelp, reaching in Hugh¡¯s direction, before his head sank into the green mass and his mind was thrust into a world of pearly-white¡­ Reavers #5: The Nest Of Despair Pt V White light. That was all there was: white light and endlessness. George couldn¡¯t quite tell if he was floating or standing. The white seemed not only to cloud his vision, but his mind as well. Thinking became hard. Where¡­am¡­I¡­? Spurring the thought into his mind was difficult enough; finding an answer to his question ¨C or even a theory for that matter ¨C was impossible. His mind remained blank, like the pages of an empty scrapbook. His body tingled, and there was a buzz in the air. He seemed to spend an eternity there, amidst the endless white light. Floating, unthinking, simply being¡­ Then a pinprick of shadow appeared, blemishing the white like dirt blemishing a white top. The pinprick grew and grew, until it enveloped all of the white light. The fogginess in his mind dispersed and now he could feel it: his feet on the ground, the wind nipping at his cheeks, the rain hammering at his back ¨C all of it. With a gasp, he realised where he was. Morton Flats, a short and squat apartment block on the edge of the town of Marsheton. It was a recent build ¨C like much of Marsheton was. Its walls were fashioned from sleek, black metal and were adorned with symmetrical grids of rain-spattered windows. Pipes and cables coiled up the side of the building like metal serpents. I haven¡¯t been here in years, not since¡­ He stopped himself from reminiscing what it was exactly that had happened here that day, long ago. He did not need to relive that pain. He frowned, shielding his eyes from the rain as he peered up at the building, lit by the cool glow of streetlights, floating in the air on their boxy propulsors. How did I get here? I don¡¯t remember anything¡­ Looking up at the building, his eyes narrowed. Well, I¡¯m here now. Might as well take a look at what¡¯s happened to the place since I left. He entered the building through the double-doors at the front ¨C which clanged shut behind him ¨C and took the lift to the fourth floor. As the lift doors slid open with a beep, he stepped out onto the threadbare carpet and began making his way to their old flat. Bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, glowing dimly and flickering. Soon, he had reached Flat 413. His ears pricked. There was shouting, coming from inside. But before he could ruminate on this, suddenly, the door slid open, revealing a narrow corridor. And stood in the corridor was a dark-haired stranger. George¡¯s eyes widened as they fixed on the stranger; his heartbeat quickened. The stranger was Arthur Marsh ¨C his younger brother. As his eyes rested on Arthur, he shook his head in disbelief. He had not seen Arthur for ten years; indeed, so great was his shock that he did not notice the youth and vigour in Arthur¡¯s face ¨C he looked the same as he had done all those years ago, still only a boy. Ten years ago, Arthur had run away from home, George remembered bitterly. He¡¯d run away after¡­after¡­ His eyes filled with tears. After¡­What happened¡­ He could not bring himself to think, to reminisce that most pain-wracked of memories, could not bring himself to recall that man, that thug, who had destroyed their lives. Trying his best to keep his face steel-cool ¨C for his younger brother¡¯s sake ¨C he stepped into the corridor. There was a whoosh as the door slid shut behind him. ¡®Arthur, is that you?¡¯ His question came out as a barely-intelligible croak. He frowned, noticing Arthur¡¯s skin was pale, almost white. George¡¯s initial shock was wearing off now; his frown deepened as he realised Arthur¡¯s youthful appearance. What¡¯s going on? Another bout of shouting from further down the corridor shook him from his thoughts. He turned to Arthur, gestured for him to follow him, away from the shouting. Arthur simply stared at him with wide eyes, feet rooted to the floor. One of the doors lining the corridor slid open; an instant later, there was a loud thud as a man hurtled through the doorway ¨C almost as if flung ¨C and smashed into the wall. From the room came screams. The man who had just come through the doorway was middle-aged and balding, with pink cheeks, a big nose, and a light stubble. His eyes were dark and deep-set. George realised, with a gasp, that the man was his father. But his father was dead. He had died that day, ten years ago¡­ Ten years ago. Something in George¡¯s mind clicked, and he suddenly realised ¨C much to his horror ¨C what was going on. Somehow, he had gone back in time to that day. The day Rod had come. He remembered it vividly; from his memories, he deduced the screams he had heard were his mother¡¯s. As a dark silhouette appeared in the doorway, so broad it nearly took up the entire doorway, George¡¯s heart plummeted. Instinctively, he leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Arthur and pushing him away. The figure in the doorway turned its head sharply in George¡¯s direction; the metal plates that made the figure¡¯s skin glinted in the gloom. It laughed; its laugh sounded like two blades of metal scraping against each other. George shuddered, heart pounding as the demonic red eyes of Rod fixed on him. The eyes of a predator.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡®Get away!¡¯ George shouted, fighting to keep the fear from his voice. At his shout, Rod laughed again. With his eyes still fixed on George, Rod raised its arm, pointing at George¡¯s father. Where there had ought to be a hand there was, instead, a huge cannon, burnished into Rod¡¯s flesh. There was a bang and a flash of purple light. George shielded his brother¡¯s eyes as the purple light struck his father¡¯s head, melting it into a puddle of goo. The smell of burning flesh hung heavy in the corridor. George cried out, glaring at Rod, tears welling in his eyes. His mother¡¯s shrieks grew louder and more shrill. There came shouting from the other room, and the shouts were suddenly muffled. Presumably, Rod¡¯s men were in there too. George dreaded to think what they were doing to his mother. Behind Rod appeared another figure ¨C smaller in stature, with a lithe leanness to her. Her hair was long and auburn. Her face donned a mask of strength and confidence. It was Lilly, George¡¯s older sister, though, weirdly enough, as of this moment, she was eight years younger than him ¨C accounting for the age difference. At the sight of her, George tensed; Lilly was dead now, in the present, and seeing her now, alive, brought a whirlwind of pain into his mind. He pushed his grief from his mind and tried to focus. As of yet, Rod hadn¡¯t noticed her. His men in the other room, however, most certainly had. ¡®Oi, girl!¡¯ came the rough shout from the other room, accompanied by a barrage of heavy footsteps. ¡®Come ¡®ere!¡¯ Lilly did not oblige the command; rather, as Rod levelled his cannon towards Arthur and George, she dove between the two huge, metal pillars that were Rod¡¯s legs and ran to her brothers. ¡®Run!¡¯ she shouted. At once, George¡¯s instincts kicked in, and his the fear dissipated in an instant. That was Lilly¡¯s effect on him. He scooped up Arthur in his arms, and together with Lilly, smashed open the door and raced outside. As they dove either side of the doorway, a purple ball of light zipped through. It crashed against a wall opposite their room, chewing through it; George grimaced as the smell of molten plastimoid stabbed at the inside of his nose. He and Lilly ran for the lift. Behind them came the sound of Rod¡¯s footfalls as his metal legs thudded against the carpet. There was another bang, and a ball of purple light soared past them, striking the lift, which sparked violently. George swore and raced past the lift, down the corridor, clutching Arthur tightly to his chest. Lilly chased after him, her confident mask now swiftly dissolving to be overcome by fear. Rod¡¯s grating laughter came from behind. ¡®Run, little piggies. Run. Run until you cannot run anymore.¡¯ He cackled loudly, sending several more balls of purple light hurtling down the corridor. George grimaced as they ran past melting doors and walls, struck by the purple bolts of Rod¡¯s cannon. Can¡¯t expect anyone to help us. They all know Rod and what he¡¯d do to them if they got involved¡­ The corridor, however, did not last forever, and soon it finished in a dead end. Holding Arthur in one hand, George ran to the wall and slammed his fist against it, howling curses. A soft hand touched his shoulder ¨C Lilly. As he turned to face her, he saw her cheeks were slick with tears. She glanced at him and shook her head. George sighed. ¡®You cannot escape,¡¯ Rod grunted, thudding towards them. ¡®You cannot escape.¡¯ He let out another bout of creaking laughter. George gritted his teeth and turned sharply towards the cyborg, staring into those soulless red eyes. Did Rod feel any emotion? Did he feel anything at all? He clenched his fist. All other attempts at escape had failed, but there was one thing still left to try¡­ He didn¡¯t wait for Rod to get any closer; he glanced at Lilly¡¯s tear-strewn face and at Arthur, who had now been put on the floor and decided instantly his course of action. With a mirthless roar, he charged at the cyborg, swinging his fist. But his attack was too slow: Rod caught the blow with his hand, chuckling. His metal face twisted into a cruel smile. ¡®Too slow,¡¯ he growled. ¡®Too sl¨C¡¯ His jeering was cut short at the sight of George¡¯s glowing fist; soon enough, the cyborg was soon embroiled with golden light, which danced and spiralled across his metal body. George could feel, now, the cyborg¡¯s fear, but also his hate; he shuddered. The golden light grew in brightness, almost blinding George. Without thinking, he craned his neck to cast one last look at Arthur and Lilly, the last look, he knew, he would ever get, before the golden light blinded him, and he returned to the endless, white realm¡­ # George gasped as the green light of the delaeon burrowed into his eyeballs; as dim as the light was, it still felt as though white-hot daggers had been thrust into his eye sockets. As he stumbled forward, shielding his eyes and fighting the cloudiness of his mind, he turned around to face the delaeon. In the delaeon¡¯s egg-shaped surface was a rapidly-fading human-shaped impression. Then he remembered it. Everything that had happened. I was in the delaeon¡­then I was at Morton Flats¡­ His brow creased. What happened? Was that all¡­just a dream? He shuddered at the memory of Rod¡¯s glowing, red eyes, at the hate he¡¯d felt when he¡¯d used his Ov¡¯l powers against the cyborg. It had felt too real to have been a dream; it had felt as though he had been back there on that fateful day, ten years ago¡­ He was shook from his thoughts ¨C literally ¨C by a strong hand that grasped his shoulder. He looked up to see Hugh¡¯s wrinkled face looking down at him. The man looked speechless. ¡®You¡­You defeated the delaeon.¡¯ Hugh¡¯s eyes were wide, mouth slightly ajar. He shook himself suddenly and commanded, ¡®We need to go ¨C now.¡¯ He gestured to the hollow metal cube ¨C a psychic bomb, he said it was ¨C lying next to the delaeon. ¡®We can survive the Realm¡¯s implosion, but we can¡¯t survive the bomb¡¯s explosion!¡¯ -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #6: The Nest Of Despair Pt VI Behind them, the delaeon swelled like a balloon as the psychic bomb pumped it full of reverse-psychic energy. Once the delaeon was brimmed with reverse-psychic energy, Hugh knew, it and the Dream Realm would implode. They just needed to get out before the middle step happened: the psychic bomb¡¯s explosion. I certainly wouldn¡¯t survive the explosion, not with all the delaeon¡¯s psychic energy barraging me. He turned to George, who was running alongside him, both frantically ducking and weaving through the crowd of dream-eaters, aiding by the occasional burst of Hugh¡¯s Fire Weaving. I doubt the Ov¡¯l would either. The Ov¡¯ls had great power ¨C including, unlike most psychically-attuned beings and structures, the ability to withstand reverse-psychic powers ¨C but even their power had a limit. Even Sinchara Khan, the most powerful Ov¡¯l user the Reaver Society had ever seen, had not held limitless power. Hugh knew that well. He grimaced as a memory of Windermere flashed before his eyes. # He saw Sinchara, knelt on the floor, watching him closely with those big golden eyes of his. The wind blew across the tower roof; Sinchara¡¯s black locks billowed like a flag in the wind. Like the flag of Death. Indeed, the death he had caused would warrant him the ascension to Death¡¯s greatest servant. Which made it all the more disconcerting seeing him now, cheeks bedecked with tears. His mouth ¨C which had, for so long, been twisted into an angry snarl ¨C was now contorted into an ugly cry. Hugh eyed his old friend, his old apprentice, with contempt, face tight. His heart pounded. He had to do it; it would be hard, but he had to do it. He had to kill Sinchara Khan. ¡®You came once, for Christmas dinner.¡¯ Hugh¡¯s chest tightened at the memory. ¡®My mother thought of you as her grandson, the one she¡¯d never had. She cooked you a gammon ¨C she knew you loved gammon.¡¯ Tears were threatening to spill from his ducts; with much difficulty, he straightened himself, attempting to regain his posture. ¡®You were my son, Sinchara, and my best friend. You were my son, not by blood, but in the way that matters.¡¯ He inhaled sharply. ¡®You are my son no longer.¡¯ ¡®Father!¡¯ Sinchara suddenly exclaimed. ¡®Father¡­please¡­¡¯ Sinchara had never called him ¡°father¡± and knew Hugh never wanted him to call him that ¨C Hugh had even reprimanded him on those rare occasions when it had accidentally slipped out. Of course, though, the man knelt before him was not that Sinchara Khan. He was a new Sinchara, mind warped by the Powers of the Ov¡¯l. ¡®Please¡­¡¯ begged Sinchara¡¯s imitator one final time. ¡® ¡°No mercy to the Ov¡¯ls¡±,¡¯ Hugh recited, quoting the words of Battlemaster Gorgo Valiant before the Last Siege of the Seven. ¡® ¡°To give mercy is to condemn the dead.¡± ¡¯ He raised his blade then slashed downward, turning away as Sinchara¡¯s blood spurted into the air¡­ # Leading George through the caves and out of the nest, Hugh began to shudder all over. Indeed, as they raced out of the nest, into the derelict lift shaft, he suddenly collapsed to his knees, quaking. A loud bang came from behind, from the direction of the cave. Roaring green fire soared from the cave¡¯s mouth. For a split-second, he heard the squeals and whines of the dream-eaters, before they were cut short as the Dream Realm collapsed around them. Only sentient creatures could survive the psychic discharge of a collapsing pocket dimension ¨C and the primitive and savage minds of the dream-eaters, though fairly evolved by hex standards, were hardly in the vein of ¡°sentient¡±. Hugh felt a hand reach for his shoulder ¨C a strong hand. It was George. ¡®Are you alright?¡¯ George asked. His tone was one of kindness, of compassion. It did not contain any of the anger or venom which had so often laced Sinchara¡¯s words, especially in the years leading to his death. But still, when Hugh looked up at him, he did not see a smiling youth; no, instead all he saw was those glowing gold eyes. Sinchara was a reaver once, before he was Turned. He was a good man once, before he was Turned. Hugh sighed. Then he became the most despicable man I have ever met. He glared up at George¡¯s golden eyes. Even the kindest of people can be warped by the Ov¡¯l¡¯s power. Cleo was right: I should never have let George go without wiping his memory. I made a mistake. And, too, he has already demonstrated his power, against the delaeon. The delaeon was the Heart of the Dream Realm, where the Realm¡¯s psychic energies were at their most concentrated, at their strongest. The fact he survived is nothing short of a miracle ¨C and an omen for all who know the Ov¡¯ls¡¯ power. No. He is too powerful to be left with the knowledge of what he is, what he can do. His memory must be wiped. I cannot make the same mistake. I cannot create another Sinchara Khan. He looked up at George and extended his hand; the boy took it, pulling Hugh to his feet. Though George¡¯s eyes no longer glowed with the fierceness of Sinchara¡¯s ¨C they looked completely normal, in fact ¨C there was still something behind them, some glint dancing on the irises. ¡®We did it,¡¯ said George, face pulled into a boyish grin. Hugh nodded and tried to smile, but managed only a grimace; George, though, didn¡¯t notice. ¡®We did indeed,¡¯ Hugh concurred. He ignored the cold feeling nagging at his insides. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡®So, what now?¡¯ George asked. ¡®What happens now after¡­¡¯ It wasn¡¯t that George had stopped speaking, only that Hugh had stopped listening. The boy continued with listless questions, what-ifs, and might-bes. Hugh paid it no heed. You need to do it quickly, he told himself, eyeing George as the boy spoke. You need to do it now. No hesitation. Just do it. The boy will suffer, certainly, but it will save so many others from suffering in his stead. The memory spell would have to be a powerful one to overcome the Ov¡¯l¡¯s psychic defences ¨C powerful enough it could erase George¡¯s whole life from his mind. Hugh tried not to think about that. ¡®George,¡¯ he said suddenly, cutting the boy off mid-sentence. George looked confused for a moment, but remained quiet. ¡®I¡¯m sorry, George,¡¯ Hugh finished, taking a step towards him. George frowned, watching Hugh warily as the reaver neared him. ¡® ¡°Sorry¡±? For what?¡¯ Hugh did not answer; instead, he took another step closer to George so that he was in reaching distance and, moving in a swift and smooth fashion so as not to give George opportunity to respond, placed his index finger on the boy¡¯s temple. ¡®Innisha,¡¯ he muttered under his breath. And suddenly everything went dark. # George watched with furrowed brows as Hugh dropped like a stone to the floor. He dove to the older man¡¯s side, grasping his hand tightly. He felt for the man¡¯s pulse, breathing a sigh of relief as he felt the steady heartbeat. Indeed, as he strained to hear, the man¡¯s breathing ¨C though shaky and ragged ¨C was still audible. ¡®Are you okay?¡¯ he asked, eyeing Hugh nervously. There was no response. ¡®Are you okay?¡¯ he asked again, trying to keep the tremors from his voice. ¡®What happened?¡¯ Hugh stirred, though still did not reply. The old man raised his head and looked at him with narrowed eyes, blinking dumbly. ¡®Hugh?¡¯ George asked tentatively. ¡®Who are you?¡¯ Hugh barked. George¡¯s frown deepened. ¡®Who am I ¨C what do you mean? We just, we just¨C¡¯ He pointed at the entrance of the dream-eaters¡¯ cave. ¡®The dream-eaters, the Dream Realm, the delaeon¡­do you not remember any of that?¡¯ ¡® ¡°Dream-eaters¡±?¡¯ Hugh looked baffled. ¡®Boy, respectfully, what are you talking about?¡¯ George¡¯s eyes widened. Now that was concerning. Forgetting their time together was one thing, but forgetting all his knowledge as a reaver was another ¨C and by his estimation, that meant Hugh had forgotten a huge portion of his life. And Hugh was old ¨C a huge portion of his life meant decades and decades, by George¡¯s estimation. Perhaps even centuries, he thought wryly. He seems only one step up from a Barren, George thought. At least, based on what Hugh told me about Barrens, that is. There was only one thing for certain: Barren or not, Hugh was in no fit state of mind for, well, anything. What happened to him? George wracked his brain, trying to recall exactly what it was that had happened leading up to Hugh¡¯s sudden collapse. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, George,¡± he had said, George recalled. But what reason would he have to apologise? His mind flashed forward a few seconds, finding the answer. He was muttering something under his breath ¨C a spell, perhaps. That would explain a lot. He looked at Hugh, lying there dumbfounded on the floor. He was trying to cast a spell on me? He felt anger rising within him and did nothing to stop it; his fists bunched and his jaw clenched. He wanted me to be like that, he thought, staring daggers at Hugh, who was examining the rocks he was lying on with morbid curiosity. He cast a spell on me¡­to try to turn me into that¡­to make me lose my memory¡­ He gritted his teeth, turned, and glared at Hugh. Hugh, at once, dropped the rock he was holding, bottom lip quivering under George¡¯s hard stare. Why did the spell fail? Well, that is an easy question. My Ov¡¯l powers are something to do with psychic, and there¡¯s very little more psychic than memory; I reckon when he cast the spell, my mind leapt into self-defence mode, using my Ov¡¯l powers to reverse the spell on him. And this is the result. He looked down ruefully at the whimpering Hugh, a shadow of his former fierce self. His face twisted into a grimace. I should leave him here, in this state. No doubt he wouldn¡¯t last long. George¡¯s mind was filled with anger, but his resolve was melting. He shook his head and sighed. No, I can¡¯t do that. I couldn¡¯t possibly leave a man on his own to die. I have to save him. But how? How indeed? It wasn¡¯t as if George¡¯s knowledge of reavers, hexes, and Weavings was extensive; rather, the vast majority of his knowledge had been cobbled together by guesses, deductions, and inferences. Not exactly a solid foundation ¨C which is what he would need if he was to have any hope of saving Hugh. He sighed and looked down at his bunched fist, then up at Hugh, who was staring, mystified, at the cave ceiling, as if it was the most wondrous thing he had ever lain eyes on. Only one thing for it. George shrugged. Just punch and hope for the best, right? With a sigh and an ounce of hesitation, he ran towards, thrusting his bunched fist towards Hugh¡­ # Hugh groaned, rubbing his cheek. Everything was cloudy; his mind was like a tangled string. Then, suddenly, the cloudiness dissipated. He remembered everything. When he recalled George¡¯s punch, he made no reaction. ¡®You punched me.¡¯ His tone was matter-of-fact, not accusatory. George nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. ¡®Yes.¡¯ The boy¡¯s response was steely, with no trace of the nervousness Hugh had so frequently detected beforehand, when they¡¯d been in the Dream Realm. Hugh chuckled. ¡®I may have made an error there.¡¯ George hesitated. ¡®You bet.¡¯ As Hugh got to his feet, he kept a careful eye on George. The boy glared at him. ¡®You were going to wipe my memory.¡¯ The boy¡¯s tone was accusatory, not matter-of-fact. Hugh nodded. ¡®I tried to ¨C wiped my own memory, it seems. Apparently, you¡¯re quite a strong Ov¡¯l. Maybe even as strong as Sinchara Khan.¡¯ At the mention of his old apprentice¡¯s name, he tensed. ¡®Don¡¯t ask,¡¯ he added quickly, almost anticipating George¡¯s question. George paused, still glaring. ¡®So, what are you going to do now?¡¯ Hugh smiled. ¡®You¡¯re an Ov¡¯l, a loose cannon. Doesn¡¯t help that you¡¯re also very powerful, as seen by this debacle and your beating of the delaeon. But you have a good soul. Only the best of souls would have saved me like you did from my own foolish error. I just pray it will be enough.¡¯ George frowned. ¡®Enough for what?¡¯ ¡®Enough to stop you from going insane,¡¯ Hugh replied simply, walking away. Or any of the other risks that face Ov¡¯ls. He beckoned for George to follow. ¡®Where are we going?¡¯ the boy asked. ¡®Underground,¡¯ Hugh said. ¡®Into the sewers, more precisely.¡¯ At George¡¯s questioning glance, he added, ¡®I¡¯m taking you to meet Taskforce Delta of the Reaver Society. I¡¯m taking you to the captain.¡¯ And praying he doesn¡¯t kill you¡­ -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #7: Red Dragon Warriors ARC 2: FEAR AND HATE ¡®Any disturbances, Cleo?¡¯ The captain¡¯s face was as unreadable as ever ¨C even more so in the dark of the room. The power was out, and the bases of Second Rank taskforces such as Taskforce Delta were never equipped with backup generators, as Cleo was ruefully remembering. ¡®Nothing that we should concern ourselves with,¡¯ she told the captain, her light-brown skin illuminated by the cool glow of her computer screen. Her shaved head glinted in the light. Shaved heads were all the fashion now in the west, but back home in China, any deviance from the ¡°norm¡± ¨C and shaved heads were a major deviance ¨C would put her on the chopping block of the Maoist Union. She shuddered at the thought of China¡¯s newest fascist government. ¡®There was a small meteorite that crashed near the city,¡¯ Cleo continued, ¡®but that¡¯s about everything my instruments have picked up. It¡¯s not big enough to be on any major news stations, but it¡¯s big enough the Society has taken an interest. Battlemaster Val has already sent the Spacefall Taskforce to investigate.¡¯ The captain surveyed the monitor, blue eyes gleaming like miniature spotlights, the occasional sliver of his dark-grey hair shimmering in the light. ¡®She should definitely send the Artefact Taskforce, too ¨C especially after that drama with the Ynaev the last time they sent down one of their artefacts.¡¯ The captain leant forward so that the light of the computer screen washed over his blue uniform; the gold star emblazoned on his chest glinted in the light. ¡®Still, not like Val would take the suggestion of a Second Rank Taskforce though, eh?¡¯ he remarked. Though he hid it with a smile, Cleo knew the captain felt highly contentious about the issue of First and Second Rank Taskforces in the Reaver Society. A reaver as skilled as he should surely have been put in command of a First Rank Taskforce, not a Second Rank Taskforce like Taskforce Delta ¨C and he knew it. Still, Battlemaster Val, the Reaver Society¡¯s secretive leader, had her reasons. Regarding the meteorite, Cleo judged he¡¯d made a good point. The Artefact Taskforce should be sent, just as a precaution, though Battlemaster Val would never allow it for the simple fact that, if they found something, it could lead to conflict. Tensions between the Reaver Society and the Ynaev, historically, had always been high. They had fought together against Guhaka and the Seven under the banner of the First Alliance in the War of the Mad God, but tensions had enveloped them ever since that fateful war. In recent years, it seemed there was always some argument between the two, most often to do with the increasingly shady nature of the Ynaev¡¯s clientele. Supplying wealthy collectors with magical artefacts was one thing; supplying terrorists with ancient weaponry was another. The Society had allow them to deal their artefacts on Earth with much reluctance, and if the Ynaev weren¡¯t careful, those precious trading licences could be stripped away. The captain patted Cleo¡¯s shoulder. ¡®Let me know if anything does come up ¨C especially if there¡¯s any word of when Hugh plans on checking back in.¡¯ His voice was firm, its edge almost tangible. Hugh had gone against protocol in his mission to St Benedict¡¯s Hospital and would surely face the captain¡¯s ire when he returned to Base. Cleo shuddered, glancing at the ice-cold gems that were the captain¡¯s eyes. The captain¡¯s anger was famed throughout all the branches of the Reaver Society; she wasn¡¯t jealous of Hugh one bit. The captain turned to leave¨C ¨Cand as he did so, Cleo¡¯s monitor suddenly bleeped. He stopped in his tracks and glanced at the screen. ¡®Disturbance in one of the pipes,¡¯ said Cleo, tapping on her keyboard. Her stomach twisted. ¡®Not one of the preliminary pipes, but close enough to be of interest¨C¡¯ ¡®¨Cor concern,¡¯ the captain finished darkly. ¡®I¡¯ll go check it out. Think you can hold the fort alright without me?¡¯ ¡®Annabelle¡¯s in the hospital wing, David¡¯s working on that speeder thing of his, and Fi is looking after Jonah for me.¡¯ She smiled at him. ¡®There¡¯s not much to look after. I think I¡¯ll be fine.¡¯ # To a chorus of mocking laughter from the other five men, a burly man shoved the cloth in George¡¯s mouth, muffling his shouts. George grimaced: the cloth tasted like stale sweat left to fester for a month. He let out a muffled shout as he was shoved roughly to the floor, millimetres away from face-planting into the excrement lining the floor of the sewer pipe. His bound hands and feet prevented him from fighting back; the rope chafed his wrists and ankles. Again, the men laughed. Droplets fell from unseeable heights, spattering his back. Water droplets, he hoped, though he suspected not. His knees scraped against something squishy, and he fought the urge to throw up, shuddering violently. The smell of the pipe was a thousand times worse than the taste of the cloth; it seemed to engulf him, drowning him in in its fetidness. Cavernous and dark, the sewer pipes underneath Marsheton were each nearly fifty metres wide and tall, stretching out in a vast, interconnected network underneath the city. Unused for nearly fifty years (now replaced by advanced in-home water treatment facilities), the pipes stank of decades-old faeces and urine. George could only wonder why the Reaver Society had decided to put the headquarters of their Marsheton branch in the sewers. I guess it keeps them hidden. Can¡¯t imagine too many go wondering down here. Other than a couple rogue youths ¨C and these men, George reminded himself bitterly ¨C he and Hugh had found the sewers completely deserted. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The burly man crouched down in front of George. He was a big man, powerfully built, with tanned skin. Like the other men, he wore military overalls and donned a rough-looking buzzcut. His eyes were dark and piercing; George help but feel like a rabbit trapped under a hawk¡¯s gaze. While he wore a hard look, there was a softness to the man¡¯s face that didn¡¯t quite fit his military outfit and rugged demeanour. ¡®So, you¡¯re the Ov¡¯l.¡¯ It was a statement, not a question, uttered in a gruff, almost disregarding tone. ¡®A bit scrawnier than I imagined.¡¯ The man¡¯s eyes narrowed. Raising himself back to his full height ¨C an impressive height that was ¨C he nodded at the man stood next to him, his buzzcut dyed purple and his skin so pale he could almost light up the entire sewer. ¡®What do you think, Gaz?¡¯ ¡°Gaz¡±, the pale-skinned man, chuckled. ¡®Easy job, this. Quick flash of credits ¨C not to mention the boost to our reputation it¡¯ll have when people learn we took down an Ov¡¯l.¡¯ ¡®Yeah, that¡¯s right.¡¯ The burly man¡¯s smile broadened into a grin. He raised a fist into the air. ¡®We took down an Ov¡¯l!¡¯ he bellowed triumphantly. His victorious cry prompted the other men to shout. They raised their fists into the air, displaying proudly the image of a red dragon tattooed on their knuckles. ¡®Hail, the Red Dragon!¡¯ the burly man bellowed. The other men cheered again, louder this time ¨C if indeed that was possible. George¡¯s eardrums felt fit to burst. These men were rough and brutish. They called themselves the ¡°Red Dragon Warriors¡± and appeared to be mercenaries serving this ¡°Red Dragon¡±. Like the reavers, they were Spell Weavers. Hugh had detailed to George the intense moral scruples of the Reaver Society regarding Weaving, such as their no-killing rule; somehow, George doubted the mercenaries followed such moral guidelines. He grimaced, remembering how he and Hugh had been ambushed by the Red Dragon Warriors. After entering the sewers through an old grate next to the Mechinaut bar, they had soon found themselves in the Warriors¡¯ grip. He shuddered at the memory of the resulting battle ¨C especially of the hooded figure, who had conjured into the sewers a fearsome red-scaled dragon. The dragon and its conjurer had split Hugh and George ¨C leaving George as easy takings for the remaining mercenaries. George¡¯s mind whirled at the thought of the ease at which he had been defeated. Guilt seeped into his gut, guilt of not being good enough, strong enough to stand on his own. Ov¡¯ls were supposed to be strong; but he was far from strong. I¡­I¡¯m weak¡­ His mind burned at the thought. I¡¯m sorry Lilly¡­ With all that had happened, he still hadn¡¯t fully comprehended Lilly¡¯s death, and thinking on it now seemed to open the wound afresh. It was as if a knife of ice-hot fire had jammed itself between his ribs. His stomach churned. His thoughts shifted to Hugh, away from Lilly and the mess of emotion there. He did not know what had happened to the gruff old reaver, and though he knew Hugh was capable of looking after himself, he could not help but fear the worst. He tried his best to keep his theories from his mind, glaring up at the burly, tan-skinned man who seemed to be the Warriors¡¯ leader. The tan-skinned man lowered his fist, and the other men silenced. No other sound echoed through the pipe but the gentle pitter-patter of liquid through the gloom. The leader had noticed George¡¯s glare, matching it with one of his own ¨C a glare which sent chills rushing down George¡¯s spine. ¡®Watch yourself, little boy,¡¯ the tan-skinned man crooned. ¡®You may be a big bad Ov¡¯l, but you¡¯re nothing gagged and tied up like that.¡¯ He chuckled. ¡®Our employer warned us about you Ov¡¯ls. Said we ought to be careful.¡¯ Another person who thinks I¡¯m stronger ¨C or should be stronger ¨C than I actually am, George thought. Ov¡¯ls are supposed to be powerful, but all I am is weak. ¡®Dunno, Valiant,¡¯ said Gaz, glancing at the tan-skinned man. ¡®This Ov¡¯l don¡¯t look much of a threat.¡¯ As the tan-skinned man ¨C Valiant ¨C laughed, rubbing the light stubble adorning his chin, a twinkle gleamed in his eye. ¡®Don¡¯t worry, little Ov¡¯l. Won¡¯t be too long before our Dragon Weaver finds your friend, Hugh Fisher.¡¯ George frowned, heart plummeting. He knows who Hugh is? At George¡¯s shocked expression, the man laughed again; his grating laugh, which sounded like scraping rock, was growing increasingly more irritating. ¡®Did you really think we didn¡¯t know everything about you two? You¡¯re an Ov¡¯l and Hugh Fisher is a legend ¨C a legend past his time, certainly, but a legend nonetheless. Hugh Fisher will die. Our employer was very adamant about that. Something about ¡°Windermere Heights¡±, he said.¡¯ George frowned. Windermere Heights, that old block of flats that got torn down years ago? With a mocking ruffle of George¡¯s hair, Valiant turned away to talk with Gaz. As the tan-skinned man strode away, George spied a tendril of smoke rising from the floor of the sewer pipe. In seconds, the smoke had coated the bottom of the pipe like a carpet and was quickly rising; it soon covered George entirely, all but shrouding the Valiant, Gaz, and the other Red Dragon Warriors from sight. A couple of surprised yelps came from the Warriors as they noticed the smoke and assembled together. George could not see little more than the Warriors¡¯ murky figures. The smoke was strangely cool and damp, like water on the tongue. George frowned. Like water on the tongue¡­ George nearly smacked himself in the face for missing something that obvious. The smoke wasn¡¯t smoke at all, he realised, but water vapour. The sewer pipes, Hugh had told him, had cleaning systems which utilised water vapour. Where George worked ¨C the space-garage on Cork Street ¨C they used a similar system. However, what Hugh had also told him was that the sewer cleaning systems were not due to be activated for at least three hours ¨C and George knew for absolute fact that he had not spent three hours down here. There was only one possibility for what was happening: someone had activated the cleaning systems. He heard a scream, piercing through the pipe. He shuddered. There was a flash of purple light and another yell. Then footsteps. Frantic footsteps. He heard another shout, cut short by a whoosh, itself followed by another flash of purple light. Murky figures moved through the vapour. A final flash of purple light, then silence. Breath tickled the back of his neck. George flinched, and he turned sharply to see a man in a blue uniform behind him, chest adorned with a golden star. The first thing he noticed as the man pulled him to his feet was the man¡¯s brilliant blue eyes¡­ ¡®Now then,¡¯ the man started, in a pleasant enough tone; George could hear no deceit or hateful intent behind his words, but then again, as he was quick to remind himself, reading people had never exactly been one of his strengths. ¡®You are the Ov¡¯l Hugh found.¡¯ The man paused, levelling his eyes with George¡¯s, face grim. His voice hardened. ¡®You¡¯re supposed to be dead.¡¯ -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #8: Fury Of The Flames Pt I Not only is it Draconic Weaving ¨C an impossibility in itself ¨C but powerful Draconic Weaving, too, Hugh thought bitterly. How did these mercs get such a weapon? The Scimitar was destroyed by the Ynaev¡­ His puzzlement was cut short as a line of orange fire shot into the narrow, stone chasm he was hiding in. The dragon had found him. Pressing himself against the cave walls, heat prickling his face, he winced, knowing full well he was lucky to not have been torched by the flames. After the red-hooded figure had first cast the Red Dragon Weaving, Hugh had been quick to run away, drawing its and its conjurer¡¯s attention. He¡¯d figured that George¡¯s odds ¨C though abysmal ¨C were considerably better without a dragon in the mix. Since then, he¡¯d found himself cornered to this little cave, burrowed into the side of one of the sewer¡¯s thick pipes. Draconic Weaving was an extinct form of spell Weaving. It hadn¡¯t been practiced for decades at least. The last known user of Dragon Weaving ¨C as far as Hugh could remember ¨C had been the unnamed Third of the Seven Servants of the Mad God, who had used the power via his mythical Dragonborn Scimitar. Like the rest of the Seven though, the Third had been felled by Battlemaster Gorgo Valiant and his reavers during the Last Siege over fifty years ago ¨C and the secrets of Draconic Weaving had been lost with the subsequent destruction of the Scimitar by the Artefact-Masters of the Ynaev, who had collected and destroyed the Seven¡¯s terrible weapons. The Scimitar was thought to have been the only source of Dragon Weaving. Apparently not, Hugh thought ruefully as the two-metre-long, thick snout of the dragon suddenly poked into the entrance of his hiding place, inching deeper and deeper into the chasm. His eyes fixed on the dragon¡¯s scaly snout, stomach tightening. The beast sniffed once, then a second time. Hugh¡¯s heart thudded in his chest. The snout was just inches away from him, easily within reaching distance; all that he could do, though, was keep quiet and hope for the best. After a few tense, sniff-filled seconds, the dragon¡¯s snout gradually slunk out of the chasm. Hugh breathed a sigh of relief, but he did not let himself relax just yet. Sure, dragons did not have a terrific sense of smell ¨C but it was still far better than a human¡¯s. It was very odd, he knew, for the dragon to not have smelled him, especially considering how close he had been to it. His concerns were soon proven correct, as there suddenly came a deafening bellow from outside the chasm. Hugh gritted his teeth, feeling the entire pipe shake. There was a warble as the red-hooded figure sang their instructions to the dragon, then another line of fire flashed into the chasm, lighting it once more with furious orange light. ¡®Evon,¡¯ Hugh snapped quickly as the fire blossomed. Heat washed over him, prickling his skin, but the Evon spell kept him untouched. But even as the orange light dissipated, the heat did not, clinging to his chest. He realised, with an audible gasp, that his jacket was on fire. Instinctively, he tore it off and flung it to the floor. The black leather was coated with flame. Stamping out the fire, he muttered bitterly to himself, ¡®I liked that jacket, too.¡¯ With the flames now gone, he kicked away the smoking jacket, eyeing grimly the holes that had been burnt through the leather. ¡®I really did like that jacket¡­¡¯ He sighed, pulling the scorched jacket back on. Somehow, he couldn¡¯t bear to part with it. Flexing his wrists, he glanced about the cavern, thinking escape. However, the chasm he was in had only one entrance ¨C and that was blocked by the dragon¡­ Theoretically, he thought, brow creased with concentration. I could dig a chasm along the sewer pipe, then pop out to flank the dragon. However, there was one issue: he was Fire Weaver, not an Earth Weaver. The heat it¡¯ll take to melt the pipe will be more than enough to melt me as well. Defeated, he slumped against the wall of the chasm, lost in his thoughts. George needs me. He doesn¡¯t even know a voya from a soundrin ¨C he needs me to teach him and guide him through the ways of Weaving and the Reaver Society. Then he realised, grimly, that it didn¡¯t matter whether he escaped from the dragon or not if George was whisked away by those mercenaries, who Hugh had recognised as the Red Dragon Warriors. And even if we both get out, there¡¯s no telling how the captain and the rest of Taskforce Delta will react to me bringing an Ov¡¯l back to base, but it wasn¡¯t like there was anywhere else to go. It was either that or go on the run. He sighed. This is one heck of a bloody mess you¡¯ve got yourself into, Hugh. One heck of a mess. You should¡¯ve just killed him, then and there. With his Ov¡¯l powers being strong enough to repel memory spells, that was the only option. But why didn¡¯t you do it? The answer to that question was complicated. Very, very complicated. He was pulled sharply from his thoughts as a high-pitched warble echoed through the pipe. He flinched and eyed the entrance to the chasm, dreading the dragon¡¯s next attack. But it never came. Instead, there was a voice. ¡®I was told Hugh Fisher was a legendary reaver, the man who killed Sinchara Khan,¡¯ the voice jibed. ¡®Yet, when I come to fight him, he relegates himself to hiding away like a common cowards.¡¯ Hugh gritted his teeth, anger forcing out a steely reply¡­but he stopped himself before it could be loosed from his lips. I need to concentrate on escaping, not on winning a battle of egos. As the voice outside continued to goad him ¨C perhaps because they had realised their dragon couldn¡¯t reach him in here ¨C Hugh¡¯s mind whirred, searching for a solution where there wasn¡¯t one, like a boy searching for life in a deceased mother ¨C a feeling he, unfortunately, knew all too well. Still, though he knew his mind¡¯s search was futile, he continued to urge it on, whipping his head with his hands as if that would spur it to success. Whipping had worked on slaves, in the past, but his mind was not his slave. It yielded no answers. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Hello Hugh. Hugh flinched at the sound of the voice echoing through his mind. He recognised it was a telepathic voice, though could not determine who it belonged to: in the mind, all voices sounded alike. It¡¯s me, Fiona. At the revelation, Hugh¡¯s eyes widened. He had found them ¨C Taskforce Delta. He imagined it was either the captain or David who had gone to help George (with Annabelle still recovering from her last encounter with a gaggle of jinxer hexes), which relieved him somewhat. Unfortunately, though, it was the Psychic Weaver Fiona ¡°Fi¡± Gig¡¯hari who¡¯d come to help Hugh. He couldn¡¯t stand her. Are we ready to have fun? Hugh grimaced. This was exactly why he couldn¡¯t stand Fi: her happy, go-lucky attitude. The grim world of hexes and reavers wasn¡¯t suited for such attitudes and naivety. ¡°Fun¡± isn¡¯t exactly how I¡¯d term this, he thought. Though he did not know Psychic Weaving, he could still communicate with her telepathically ¨C after she had Woven a psychic tether between them. Anything can be fun, if you want it to be. I don¡¯t count getting half-scorched by a Red Dragon as ¡°having fun¡±. She paused for a half-instant. Hugh, stop being a misery. The directness and brazenness of her remark forced him to crack a smile. I don¡¯t know what else to be. You could be like me. No. There was another pause, longer this time. So, what¡¯s the issue anyway? she asked, ignoring his previous rebuke. A Woven dragon, Hugh answered. He could almost see the other girl¡¯s face light up. A dragon? Wow! This will be fun! Hugh sneered. This will not be fun. It hasn¡¯t been fun for me so far. But that¡¯s before you had me! He was about to bite back a nasty retort but decided against it. Though this fight would certainly not be ¡°fun¡± by any measure, he had to admit, Fi did have a tendency to make things more¡­entertaining. Psychic Weaving was a rarity amongst reavers and featured some spectacular powers. What do you need me to do? he asked her. Can you lure the dragon into that little cave you¡¯re hiding in? It won¡¯t be able to see me, and I¡¯ll be able to flank it. The fact that she knew where he was did not surprise him: Fi could detect and locate individuals¡¯ psychic activity from up to half a mile away. Considering Fi¡¯s plan for a second, Hugh concluded there was a singular variable she hadn¡¯t accounted for, that being the red-hooded figure who had Woven the dragon in the first place. After voicing telepathically his fears, she replied, I¡¯m hoping that, with the dragon distracted, its Weaver will be too. Then I¡¯ll flank them both. Don¡¯t worry, Hugh. I¡¯ll be fine. Good luck, Hugh thought, a shiver running down his spine. As much as Fi irritated him, he had no wish to see her injured or dead. He cautiously angled his head out of the chasm, twitching as the red-hooded figure¡¯s shrill warble stabbed his eardrums. The dragon¡¯s amber eyes blazed as they fixed on him; he ducked back into the chasm, pursued by a line of orange flame. Soon after, the dragon¡¯s snout had buried itself into the chasm, embroiled in plumes of fire. Well, that didn¡¯t take much, he thought grimly, shielding his face from the flames. Thank you! Fi called telepathically. Now let¡¯s get to work! The instant he received her last message, the fire wreathing the dragon¡¯s snout suddenly died ¨C and soon the dragon¡¯s snout had altogether exited the chasm. Acting quickly, Hugh poked his head out of the chasm. The dragon¡¯s fat, scaly body blotted out from view the entire right section of the pipe ¨C where, Hugh deduced, Fi was. Meanwhile, the dragon¡¯s Weaver, decked out in a red hood and cloak, stood behind the dragon, palm outstretched, warbling frantically at the dragon. It was only then Hugh noticed that the dragon¡¯s huge, black wings we not beating, that it¡¯s clawed arms stayed firmly fixed by its side. Even its tail, scaled and ending with a dagger-shaped point, was flopped uselessly on the ground. The dragon was motionless. Hugh smiled. Seems Fi¡¯s using her Mental Lock Weaving to freeze it in place. That way, she¡¯ll soon be able to take over the dragon¡¯s mind and use her Psychic Command ability. That explained the red-hooded Weaver¡¯s frantic warbling: they were trying to guide the dragon out of the Mental Lock that Fi had trapped it in. Hugh grimaced, looking down at the Weaver, who was stood at the centre of the pipe. Though Fi was a powerful reaver, she was trying to fight Dragon Weaving, which as Hugh had found out, was not an easy task. And with the Weaver¡¯s concentration fully focussed on the dragon and its fight with Fi, it made it even more likely for the dragon to break out of Fi¡¯s Mental Lock. Hugh eyed the Weaver warily. I need to distract it. Historically, only powerful Weavers could use Dragon Weaving, but with his concentration divided between me and his dragon, it should be a fairer fight. Yes¡­do¡­that¡­ Fi called telepathically. Hugh could sense she was straining. Don¡¯t pay attention to me ¨C focus on keeping the dragon in the Mental Lock. Obediently, she did not reply. Dropping down from the chasm to the bottom of the pipe, Hugh landed with a thud on the cool, water-slicked stone. The red-hooded reaver noticed him immediately; he cocked his head towards Hugh, splayed his arm forward, and bellowed, ¡®Adurantur!¡¯ Hugh¡¯s eyes widened. The Adurantur spell was a Simple Form Fire Weaving spell, specifically the most powerful Simple Form Fire Weaving spell there was. It blended Fire Weaving with Dragon Weaving to create a Fire-Dragon Fusion Power with the effectiveness of both Fire and Dragon Weaving but none of the weaknesses. Not even the most powerful Complex Water Weaving could extinguish a Fire-Dragon Fusion Power. No one should have power like that, Hugh thought, watching as flame billowed from the Weaver¡¯s hand in five baleful torrents, which spiralled towards him. At the front of each torrent, he saw the flame morph and coil into a dragon¡¯s head. With a Dragon-Fire Fusion Power¡­he¡¯s unstoppable! Strictly speaking, he knew that wasn¡¯t true. The only way to defeat a Fusion Power ¨C other than with brute power ¨C was by using one of the spell¡¯s Progenitor Weavings, in this case being Fire and Dragon Weaving. Hugh smiled grimly. I need to fight fire with fire. But it had to be a big fire, not like that Simple Weaving he¡¯d used fighting the dream-eaters in St Benedict¡¯s Hospital. As he ran from the five lines of fire as they chased him along the pipe, his mind whirled with possible spells he could use. It had to be a Complex Form spell ¨C that much was certain. The only weakness of Fusion Powers was that they could never go beyond the level of Simple Form Weaving; that meant that they could be countered by any Weaving of Complex Form and above using their Progenitor Weavings. A Complex Fire Weaving¡­I¡¯ve got it! Hugh span around to face the lines of fire rushing towards him. The fiery dragon¡¯s heads splayed open, plumes of fire tearing from their maws¡­ Unlike Simple Form Weaving spells, Complex Form spells could not be cast only using verbal activation; they required action, too ¨C and this spell was no different. Hugh thrust his right palm towards the five lines of fire, spreading out his fingers, and wrapped his left hand around his wrist. ¡®Illuvinatum!¡¯ he shouted. -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #9: Fury Of The Flames Pt II ¡®Illuvinatum!¡¯ Hugh shouted. From his outstretched palm blossomed gold light, which spread to form an ovular shield in front of him, only a smidge taller and wider than he was. Though it was small, the Illuvus Shield was impenetrable. The lines of dragon-headed fire reached him, impacting against the shield of golden light, which gleamed as though fashioned from the heart of a sun. The dragon-heads smacked against the shield, biting and scrabbling to break through, but could not. After a few frenzied moments, the lines of fire began to dissipate, fading away. As the last tendrils of fire disappeared, Hugh breathed a sigh of relief. To some, his decision to use an Illuvus Shield ¨C a spell with only defensive capabilities ¨C would be seen as an error; rather, they would opt for a spell which combined offence and defence to provide a stunning counterattack. However, Hugh thought. Those spells would never have been able to withstand the full brunt of a Fire-Dragon Fusion Power. His eyes fixed on the red-hooded Weaver stood in the middle of the pipe, the scaly, bloated form of the dragon stood behind them. Apparently, the figure had believed that the Fire-Dragon Fusion power was enough to defeat Hugh, facing their back towards the reaver. That would be a mistake. Hugh gritted his teeth, bunching his hands into fists. Takes a lot of stamina to cast Fusion Powers; it¡¯s why I try to avoid doing so. I can¡¯t let them gain their stamina back, though ¨C I need to attack now. He sprinted towards the Weaver; when he was just ten metres away, he bellowed, ¡®Cord¡¯agsen!¡¯ His body suddenly lit up, wreathed in green fire. He felt strength and power shoot down his veins. With the Cord¡¯agsen spell, any further Fire Weaving he cast would be bolstered in power and effectiveness. As he ran closer, feet thudding against the bottom of the pipe, the red-hooded figure did not seem to notice him; their concentration was on the dragon and the battle with Fi¡¯s Mental Lock. Three metres from the red-hooded figure, Hugh yelled, ¡®Hansfear!¡¯ In each hand appeared a sword, which seemed to be made from fire itself, crackling malevolently as it swirled in his grip. Two metres away from the red-hooded figure, Hugh leapt forward, raising the swords over his head. Still the figure did not seem to have noticed him. I¡¯ve got him now! Hugh though triumphantly, swinging the swords towards the Weaver¡¯s head. From each of the Weaver¡¯s ear canals, spearing through the air, came what looked to be a scaled, dagger-ended tail. A dragon¡¯s tail. Hugh¡¯s eyes widened as he noticed them, but it was too late. One of the tails slashed at the two flaming swords, extinguishing them; the other slashed at Hugh¡¯s chest, drawing a huge welt of blood and sending him hurtling back into the side of the pipe. The impact against the side of the pipe sent daggers of pain into his spine ¨C and his head, as he crashed against the stone. He slid down the side of the pipe, coming to rest in a dazed heap at the bottom. Groaning, he tried to get to his feet ¨C but the pain kept him planted on the floor. The green fire that had wreathed him was now gone, and he felt weak and vulnerable without it. Blood dripped down his front, staining his white shirt; he cursed, seeing a long, thin gash cutting across his chest, from shoulder to hip. The wound stung; Hugh winced. It seemed Dragon Weaving was even more powerful than he¡¯d thought ¨C that spell had been cast without the red-hooded Weaver having to even say a word. He sighed. There¡¯s no way I can beat that¡­ He gritted his teeth. But I have to try. If I can take up his attention, Fi may have an easier time trapping the dragon in her Mental Lock¡­ He forced himself back up to his feet, glaring at the red-hooded Weaver, who turned to face him. Who are you? Hugh pondered to himself, staring at the shadowed face under the hood. Who do you think you are, fighting me? I¡¯ve fought and defeated an Ov¡¯l¨C ¨CI¡¯ve fought and killed two, a voice inside his head countered. Hugh¡¯s eyes widened. The red-hooded Weaver. He hadn¡¯t expected a response. It seemed this Weaver was an especially skilled one; not content with knowing just two disciplines of Weaving, Fire and Dragon Weaving, they knew Psychic Weaving as well ¨C which explained why they had, thus far, been able to battle Fi¡¯s Mental Lock. Even Hugh ¨C legendary reaver though he was ¨C only used two disciplines, Air and Fire Weaving, though he did know some basic Psychic Weaving. Of all those in the Reaver Society, he only knew of two who could use three disciplines: the captain of Taskforce Delta and Battlemaster Val, the leader of the Society¡¯s UK branch. Of those two, though, neither had matched an Ov¡¯l in combat ¨C much less beaten one. This Weaver had beaten and killed two. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Hugh shuddered. If it wasn¡¯t evident enough already as to the skill of his opponent, it was now; certainly, they were one of the most powerful Weavers in existence. Their ability to fight both Hugh and Fi at once was proof enough of that. I could die fighting them. That is my intention, old man. A shiver ran down Hugh¡¯s spine. He clenched his jaw. Not if I have anything to say about it. Muttering the spells under his breath, he wreathed himself in Cord¡¯agsen¡¯s green flame and conjured up Hansfear¡¯s flaming sword in one hand. However, for his second weapon, he opted for a flaming spear, conjured by the Uhjyk spell. In his mind, he heard a dark, mirthless chuckle. Somehow, telepathic laughter always sounded so ominous. Hugh yelled, sprinting towards the reaver, ignoring the searing pain across his chest. He threw his flaming spear¡­and the other Weaver caught it. Another bout of telepathic laughter echoed through his head. Then the spear exploded. With a thunderous bellow, fire spat everywhere, spurting from the spear like light from a firework. Hugh skidded across the pipe, ducking underneath the plumes of fire shooting all over. Heat stroked his face as he brushed the flames. He couldn¡¯t see anything through the fire. It would be bold, he knew, to think he had won. As the flames subsided, his eyes fixed on a dark figure; he leapt forward, slashing with his sword¡­ George¡¯s blonde-haired head fell to the floor, and his body with it. Hugh gasped, seeing George¡¯s lifeless, blue eyes staring back at him. The head and body caught alight, and after a few long moments, were nothing more than ash. Hugh froze. He inhaled sharply. What¡­? Where¡­? George¡­? His mind whirred with a blend of emotions; he could not think straight. His head hurt as though it was being repeatedly hit by a sledgehammer. George? Then he heard the flapping of wings and looked up to see the red-hooded figure above him, flying in the air on two huge, black wings. The figure¡¯s red gown swirled at their feet. And suddenly everything made sense. As Hugh looked down, just as he¡¯d predicted, the ash that had been George¡¯s body was gone. A Psychic illusion, to throw me off guard¡­ He realised this too late, however, as the red-hooded figure dove towards him, their black wings ¨C likely a gift from their Dragon Weaving powers ¨C beating madly. As the figure neared, Hugh spied on the crest of its wings two black spikes. His eyes widened. The figure crashed into him, impaling his shoulders with their wing-spikes and taking him off his feet. Hugh groaned as he was slammed into the side of the pipe. The impact blew the figure¡¯s hood off, revealing a pale face and long, gold-red locks. The woman smiled at him, eyes twinkling. ¡®The Cult of the Red Dragon is strong and grows stronger still. All he asks for is loyalty; what he gives¡­is everything. All the power you could dream of, right there in your hand!¡¯ Hugh grimaced. ¡®Are you trying to recruit me?¡¯ He shook his head. ¡®Never. Dragon Weaving is a cursed magic, used by the Third and his minions. It is tainted by Guhaka, the Mad God. I will never touch it.¡¯ Her face twisted into a snarl. ¡®You disappoint me. You would be one of the strongest, I know, if you had this power.¡¯ She sighed. ¡®You stand in the way of our goals. Therefore, you must die. Hail the Red Dragon!¡¯ Just as she said the words, a plume of fire burst from behind her, engulfing her. Hugh grimaced as the smell of burning flesh flooded his nose. It was an acrid smell, a bitter smell. He sighed, feeling the pressure in his shoulders vanish as the woman¡¯s spiked, black wings dissolved to ash. As he slid down the side of the pipe, landing on the bottom with a rough thud, he looked up to see the red-scaled dragon peering down at him. Its eyes were glassy, its look plain, not hateful. Fi¡¯s Mental Lock worked, he realised. With the dragon caught in her Mental Lock, she had been able to cast her Psychic Command spell to control the dragon so that it fired upon the red-hooded figure. The Psychic Weaving the Weaver did¡­with that illusion of George¡­ Hugh shuddered at the memory of it. It meant she was distracted. He didn¡¯t dare think how he would have ended up without Fi¡¯s intervention. There was a pause. That was fun! Hugh rolled his eyes, turning to see Fi walking down the pipe towards him. As ever, she looked stunning; he could not take his eyes off her. Fi was obsessed with having a good time and liked to dress lavishly for any occasion ¨C even a battle. Her body was wreathed in a white, laced-with-silver gown, which glistened like starlight. The gown was loose and non-revealing, but Hugh only thought that added to the charm. Her skin was as dark as coal ¨C contrasting sharply with her white gown ¨C and her tightly-curled black locks of hair dribbled down her head, draping over her shoulders and down her neck. Silver bands encircled her neck and wrists, shining brilliantly even in the gloom of the sewer pipe. Her footsteps were almost noiseless, muffled by white sandals. What caught Hugh¡¯s eye most, though, were her eyes: bright-green and infinitely majestic, they seemed to peer right into the very reaches of his soul. His knees felt weak watching her as she approached. The pain of his wounds seemed to subside in an instant. As Fi approached, she smiled a dazzling smile, which quickly shifted to a harsh look of concern and worry as she noticed Hugh¡¯s wounds. ¡®Good thing I called the captain in,¡¯ she murmured. ¡®Still, that was a lot of fun. We should do that again.¡¯ Hugh looked back at her incredulously, now once again feeling the pain across his chest and in his shoulders, where the Dragon Weaver had struck him. ¡®No. Let¡¯s not.¡¯ He sighed, shivering from the pain. ¡®The captain ¨C did he find anyone else in the sewers?¡¯ Fi nodded sharply. ¡®Found your Ov¡¯l, if that¡¯s what you mean.¡¯ Hugh¡¯s face fell. He¡¯s found George? -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #10: The Battlemasters Heir Squinting, George forced open his bleary eyes¡­to see the grim face of Valiant staring back at him. With a start, he made to leap back, but found he couldn¡¯t. It was then he became aware of the bindings fixed around his wrists and ankles, though unlike the bindings the Red Dragon Warriors had ensnared him in, these were made of cool metal. His arms and legs were stretched wide and clamped to the wall to make an ¡°X¡± shape. As he gradually recovered from the shock of seeing Valiant¡¯s face, he noticed the mercenary was in a similar predicament on the opposite wall. ¡®These your reaver friends?¡¯ Valiant jibed. ¡®Either these aren¡¯t great friends, or they like the kinkier side of things.¡¯ George frowned, trying his best to shut Valiant out. He could not remember exactly what it was that had led him here ¨C in fact, trying to remember only rewarded him with sparks of pain shooting through his mind. He vaguely remembered the confrontation in the pipe, the Red Dragon Warriors, the smoke, the flashes of purple light¡­and that man. That very same man who, as George tried to recollect his thoughts, had entered the room where he and Valiant were being held. The man with blue eyes, dark-grey hair, and a blue uniform with a gold star on the chest. As the man entered the room, Valiant¡¯s face fell. ¡®Reuben?¡¯ he asked tentatively. George frowned. Valiant knows this man? The other man was a reaver, of that much George was certain. Then how and why did he know the burly mercenary? The blue-eyed man ¨C Reuben ¨C nodded. ¡®Hello, Grimoire. Long time no see. I take it you forgot that this part of town is where Taskforce Delta operates?¡¯ Taskforce Delta¡­George recognised the name. Hugh had mentioned it once or twice. Reuben saying it confirmed his suspicions that the he was, indeed, a reaver. But why is he holding me like this? I thought reavers were supposed to be the good guys? As his confusion-soaked mind whirred, another thought blossomed. There are no good guys and bad guys, George, just look at your father. But your father was a good-for-nothing who could not provide for his family, came the counter-thought. In fact, he was responsible for tearing your family apart. His death, Mum¡¯s death, and Arthur¡¯s disappearance were all his fault! As George¡¯s head span with conflicting thoughts, Valiant ¨C or was it ¡°Grimoire¡±? ¨C nodded slowly. ¡®Something like that,¡¯ he grunted. He glared at Reuben. ¡®I won¡¯t tell you anything about my employer, before you ask.¡¯ Reuben smiled. ¡®So even mercs have some sense of honour.¡¯ ¡®It¡¯s not honour,¡¯ Valiant retorted. ¡®This employer just likes to throw big money around ¨C and I want to be the one collecting that money next time they throw it around.¡¯ ¡®Ah. I was mistaken. I did think it unlikely for hired thugs to have any semblance of honour.¡¯ Reuben paused, his face suddenly growing solemn. ¡®You could have been so much, Grimoire. So much¡­but instead you chose this.¡¯ ¡®Instead I chose this,¡¯ Valiant echoed, his words equally as hard as Reuben¡¯s face was solemn. ¡®I made the right choice ¨C no one but power-addled lunatics would even consider becoming a reaver.¡¯ Reuben cocked his head. ¡®And you think I am one of these ¡°power-addled lunatics¡±?¡¯ Valiant ignored him, keeping his voice as hard and cool as steel. ¡®What did you do to my men, Reuben?¡¯ ¡®Scared them off, that was all ¨C mostly. Cosmic Weaving does that, I find. A couple of them may be missing limbs, but don¡¯t worry, I didn¡¯t kill them. It¡¯s not the reavers¡¯ way.¡¯ Valiant glared at him. ¡®You know who we are, the master that we serve. You¡¯ve heard the legends. You know those men missing limbs might just as well be dead.¡¯ ¡®Yes,¡¯ Reuben mused, and there was something dancing in his eye. ¡®The Dragon must feast, after all¡­and what better prey is there than the weak?¡¯ Valiant scoffed. ¡®Those men, I know, even without limbs, would hardly be considered weak.¡¯ He sniffed. ¡®You bloody reavers¡­you and your codes¡­You think you¡¯re so much better than the rest of us, but you¡¯re not. You could¡¯ve given my men mercy ¨C mercy, Reuben, would have been to kill them. They will not have any mercy from the Dragon, only a long and painful death.¡¯ ¡®They endangered the Reaver Society,¡¯ Reuben said simply. ¡®They got what they deserved.¡¯ ¡®No one deserves to be eaten alive.¡¯ The final comment caught Reuben off-guard; he hesitated for a second, his cool demeanour fracturing slightly. He straightened himself in an attempt to regain his calm, and it was as if he had never faltered at all. ¡®Your grandfather would not be much pleased with you,¡¯ he said, electing to ignore Valiant¡¯s previous comment. ¡®Gorgo Valiant was a hero, the man who led the Society against the Seven and their Ov¡¯l armies in the War of the Mad God; and now his grandson, his last living heir, is nothing more than a dishonourable, money-grubbing merc.¡¯ Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. It was now Valiant¡¯s turn to be put in the crucible, and judging by the fire that sparked in his eyes at Reuben¡¯s remark, George estimated he would be quick to melt.* The buzzcutt-donning merc made to bite out a retort, but caught himself, instead choosing to angle his head down at the floor in silence. George nodded to himself. He¡¯d been right: Valiant had melted in no time at all. Apparently victorious, Reuben gave Valiant a final look-over before turning sharply on his heel to fix his blue-eyed gaze on George. ¡®Now, Ov¡¯l.¡¯ His voice was sharp, his eyes keen. ¡®I kept you alive only for one reason: I need an answer from you. It¡¯s about Hugh Fisher.¡¯ George¡¯s eyes widened. His mind raced as it tried to predict what Reuben would ask. The blue-eyed reaver smiled. ¡®Years ago, there was another Ov¡¯l working with Taskforce Delta: Sinchara Khan. At the time, only a precious few knew he was an Ov¡¯l ¨C myself included. It had to be this way, or there would have been panic and dissent throughout the taskforces of the Reaver Society. We¡¯d heard the legends about the Ov¡¯ls, of course, but we hoped he would be different. He was a good man, a very good man ¨C but that didn¡¯t stop him from being Turned. He was corrupted by the Powers of the Ov¡¯l and went on a killing spree through his old home, Windermere Heights. During the battle there, the place was all but destroyed.¡¯ So Windermere Heights wasn¡¯t bulldozed, it was destroyed by an Ov¡¯l, George realised. ¡®Sinchara had been Hugh¡¯s student,¡¯ Reuben continued. ¡®Hugh had trained him right from when he¡¯d first joined the Reaver Society, up until when he¡¯d Turned. As such, Hugh blamed himself for Sinchara¡¯s fall to darkness. It was for this reason he decided he would face Sinchara ¨C alone ¨C on the roof of Windermere Heights. In the battle, Hugh was forced to kill Sinchara Khan. From that point on, the Reaver Society vowed never to let a tragedy like this happen again. Battlemaster Val made it a rule in the Reaver Society that any Ov¡¯ls encountered would be wiped on sight, or killed; of the eleven Ov¡¯ls we have encountered since, only one has survived.¡¯ His brows furrowed as his eyes levelled on George. ¡®You. You are the only one. Hugh, for some incomprehensible reason, spared you. Of all of us, Hugh is the one with the most reason to follow this anti-Ov¡¯l doctrine. Therefore, it does not make sense why he allowed you to live. What answer I need, Ov¡¯l, is the answer to this question: why did Hugh Fisher spare you?¡¯ George froze. He fumbled his words; they came out only as a series of incoherent mumbles and murmurs. The truth was he didn¡¯t know why Hugh had saved him ¨C and from what Hugh and Reuben had told him, it seemed to him that Hugh had made a mistake. He should have killed me. ¡°Loose cannon¡±, he said. I could go off at any time, and it wouldn¡¯t be pretty. Better they kill me now, while I¡¯m still weak, before I Turn. As George struggled to get the words out, he heard the sound of laughter and looked up to see Valiant chuckling loudly. ¡®You done messed up good this time, Reuben,¡¯ the mercenary said as Reuben turned to look sharply at him. ¡®You reavers and your rules ¨C imagine bragging about the deaths of ten innocent people.¡¯ ¡®Their deaths protected us all,¡¯ Reuben bit back. ¡®One Ov¡¯l caused Windermere Heights; can you imagine what ten could do?¡¯ ¡®Assuming they all Turned,¡¯ Valiant retorted. ¡®Assuming Sinchara Khan was the norm and not just a coincidence.¡¯ Reuben¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡®Is this why you abandoned us, Valiant? Over Sinchara Khan?¡¯ Valiant¡¯s returning nod was swift and sharp. ¡®Certainly. You may think the Powers of the Ov¡¯l as an unrelenting and unbeatable force that no one can oppose. You say there is no one good enough ¨C I disagree. Sinchara Khan Turned because, other than Hugh, everyone else expected him to Turn.¡¯ ¡®That¡¯s a nice theory,¡¯ Reuben replied coldly, cocking his head. ¡®Tell me, Grimoire Valiant, why I should listen to you? You are a mercenary and a hypocrite.¡¯ Valiant frowned. ¡®Hypocrite?¡¯ He barked a laugh. ¡®Your precious Reaver Society is full of hypocrites ¨C and you¡¯re the worst.¡¯ Reuben ignored the attack. ¡®You are a hypocrite, Valiant, as you claim to hate rules and societies and any organisations, yet have chosen to work with the largest mercenary Weaver organisation the world over: the Red Dragon Warriors.¡¯ Valiant shrugged. ¡®Got to go where the work is. The Red Dragon asks for some service, and in return, I get the cash-cows.¡¯ He smirked. ¡®Money is truly a beautiful thing.¡¯ ¡®You¡¯re a very simple man, Grimoire,¡¯ Reuben crooned. The reaver¡¯s words were meant as an attack, but if Valiant noticed, he did not show it. The merc grinned broadly. ¡®Took the words right out of my mouth.¡¯ Reuben scowled. He looked as though about to snap something back, but having seemingly given up on winning the verbal duel with Valiant, instead turned back to face George. Certainly, George concluded, he was the easier opponent. ¡®You still haven¡¯t answered me, Ov¡¯l.¡¯ George could practically feel Reuben¡¯s contempt for him ¨C and it was no small wonder why, given all he had heard about Sinchara Khan and Windermere Heights. ¡®Why did Hugh spare you your life?¡¯ Reuben asked again, rather harshly. ¡®All I know is that he made a mistake doing so, but I don¡¯t know why.¡¯ George¡¯s answer was steely ¨C or so he hoped it was, at least. Reuben¡¯s pale face twisted into the barest hint of a smile. ¡®Yes, it is good that you acknowledge that your being dead would be much better ¨C much simpler ¨C for everyone.¡¯ Though the man maintained his composure as he said the words, George could sense there was something different now as Reuben spoke. The words seemed more mechanic, lacking any true feeling or resonance behind them ¨C unlike how they had done just moments prior. ¡®I¡¯m a danger to the Society, to England, to the world. And I¡¯m too weak to have a chance in stopping myself from Turning.¡¯ George gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to counter his own points, though he knew it would do no good. He¡¯d seen the destruction at Windermere Heights, wreaked by Sinchara Khan. If he Turned as well¡­He shook his head firmly. He couldn¡¯t let another Windermere Heights happen. He had to die. -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #11: Captains Call After Reuben had left George and Valiant, he had been replaced by a woman with light-brown skin and a braided ponytail. She wore the same blue uniform as Reuben, pristine and immaculate. George couldn¡¯t see a single crease. She probably spent hours ironing it, he thought wryly to himself. Across her face was a purple scar; it looked to have only half-healed and was still oozing. George grimaced. Without the scar, she would have been very pretty, with a sharp jawline and two beady blue eyes that glistened like sapphires. However, the scar, which stretched over much of her face, decidedly ruined her beauty. That and the perpetual frown she wore. Since being in the containment room, the woman had yet to speak and had ignored both men strung-up on the walls. After about five minutes of silence ¨C though it felt to George like hours ¨C it was Valiant who broke the silence, glancing towards the woman, trying his ebst to smile though only managing a grimace. ¡®Hello, Annabelle.¡¯ His voice was stiff and awkward. ¡®You still together with Hugh, then?¡¯ George¡¯s eyes widened. Hugh has a girlfriend? Looking at Annabelle¡¯s moody disposition, he wondered what the older reaver had seen in her. Annabelle¡¯s eyes narrowed as they fixed on Valiant. ¡®We¡¯re not together anymore, no, Grimoire. Not that it¡¯s any of your business,¡¯ she added icily. ¡®So what happened, then?¡¯ Valiant asked. ¡®Did you realise Ov¡¯l-murdering didn¡¯t make someone a hero ¨C that is why you left me, right? Because Hugh was a hero and I was nothing but a guy you worked with.¡¯ She stiffened. ¡®Shut up¨C¡¯ ¡®Sinchara Khan was your friend too,¡¯ Valiant continued, cutting over her. ¡®And now he¡¯s dead ¨C because of Hugh Fisher.¡¯ ¡®You¡¯re a mercenary, Grimoire,¡¯ Annabelle snapped, cheeks glowing scarlet. ¡®In fact, you¡¯re more than that: you¡¯re a mercenary for the Red Dragon. You¡¯ve killed people, Grimoire, so don¡¯t act like you are in any way superior to Hugh. Seems I was right to pick the hero over a no-good loser like you, else I¡¯d be stuck in the same position as you, on the run, always watching your back in case the Reaver Society comes for you.¡¯ Valiant huffed. ¡®You didn¡¯t answer my question, Annie¨C¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t call me that,¡¯ she snapped, her words as sharp as knives. ¡®As for why Hugh and I split up, that is information only we two shall ever know.¡¯ Valiant grimaced. ¡®Have it your way then. You and that murderer can keep your little secret.¡¯ Her eyes narrowed to slits. ¡®Sinchara Khan had to die, Grimoire, and you know it. You know we can¡¯t let the Ov¡¯ls live ¨C despite our codes.¡¯ She pointed at George, but kept her face firmly pointed in Valiant¡¯s direction. ¡®The captain is right: he has to die, Grimoire. By keeping him alive, Hugh has betrayed us.¡¯ Valiant looked up, glancing across the room at George. As the burly man¡¯s eyes fixed on him, George stooped his neck, pointing his head at the ground. He knew the truth, understood what needed to happen: he, George Marsh, cursed by the Powers of the Ov¡¯l, had to die. And they had to kill him quick, before he got too powerful, before he went out of control and Turned. Before he became another Sinchara Khan; before he caused another Windermere Heights. ¡®I don¡¯t care what happens to the kid,¡¯ said Valiant, voice hollow. ¡®So long as he¡¯s alive long enough for me to get my money, I don¡¯t care. Whatever happens, I¡¯m not getting involved any of your reaver business.¡¯ Annabelle stifled a laugh. ¡®You¡¯re already involved, Grimoire. Right in the thick of it.¡¯ Valiant did not reply. George looked up, looking across the room at the other man, who hung limply from his constraints. His face looked pained, his eyes twinkling. He looked somewhat paler than before Annabelle had entered. George suddenly came to a horrifying realisation: he realised he¡¯d prefer to be away with Valiant and his men, than here, caught by the Reaver Society. At least the Red Dragon Warriors didn¡¯t have any plans to have him killed ¨C yet. He shoved those naive thoughts aside, mentally chastising himself. No, it is your duty to be here. You have to be here. You have to die. At the thought, his stomach twisted. He didn¡¯t want to die. But I must. He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and saw a bald, East-Asian woman entering the room. Like Annabelle, her uniform was pristine. The woman fixed George with a hard glare, before turning to Annabelle. ¡®Hugh is back,¡¯ she said in a low voice. ¡®David is treating his injuries.¡¯ She nodded at the purple scar on Annabelle¡¯s cheek. ¡®Seems he did a good job with the cut that jinxer hex gave you.¡¯ Annabelle smiled slightly. ¡®Says it¡¯ll be gone in a week at most. I¡¯ve never known pain like it, Cleo; it feels as though this thing is eating at my face.¡¯ George¡¯s eyes widened as he heard her reply, fixing his eyes on the East-Asian woman. So this was the ¡°Cleo¡± Hugh had been talking to back at St Benedict¡¯s Hospital. She smiled a thin-lipped, tight smile. After a final brief exchange, the two women finished their conversation. Annabelle left to go see Hugh in the medbay ¨C George wished he could have joined her; he was very worried about what state the dragon had left Hugh in ¨C and Cleo stayed to keep watch over the prisoners. Silence resumed ¨C unbroken, this time. Occasionally, though, Cleo did glance across at George, strapped up on the wall. The combination of her hard stare and tight smile was unnerving; George could almost feel the hatred behind it, like a roiling storm threatening to attack. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. Cleo was later joined by another man with dark-brown skin and dreadlocks. He looked muscular ¨C nearly as muscular as Valiant ¨C and had a square head which mirrored his square shoulders. His face was adorned with thick-ridged scars. Unlike both Cleo and Annabelle, the man wore his uniform untucked and it was in far less pristine condition than the two women¡¯s. Through overhearing the pair¡¯s murmured conversation, George discerned that the other man was David, the healer of Taskforce Delta. He looked a lot more like a soldier than the kind-faced healer George had envisioned. Soon after, a second woman entered the room, joining Cleo and David and remarking about how quick Annabelle had been to get her away from Hugh¡¯s bedside. She was very dark-skinned, her skin almost pitch-black, and ¨C unlike the others ¨C she did not wear any uniform, instead opting for a sleek, tightly-fitted dress of shocking-white, which contrasted sharply with her skin. Her curly, black locks flowed over her shoulders, shimmering in the room¡¯s light. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡®I should should go,¡¯ David began. ¡®If Annabelle and Hugh are alone together, it won¡¯t be long before there¡¯s a fight,¡¯ he finished with a grin. Cleo nodded. ¡®I should go, too. Make sure the captain isn¡¯t doubting about what to do with him.¡¯ She cast a harsh glance up at George, before following David out of the room. As the pair left, the dark-skinned woman with the white dress turned to face George. Her eyes were kind; she beamed at him, the very sight of her smile sparking a warm and fuzzy feeling inside him. She was quick to introduce herself as ¡°Fiona¡± but said George could refer to her as ¡°Fi¡±. ¡®Ignore Cleo,¡¯ Fi said, still beaming at him. ¡®You¡¯re not going to die today, George ¨C Hugh will make sure of that. You¡¯re an Ov¡¯l, but that doesn¡¯t necessarily mean you¡¯ll Turn.¡¯ George sobered at the reminder of his Ov¡¯l powers. I wish I¡¯d never had them. But there¡¯s no one to blame but Fate; Hugh did, after all, say there was no rhyme or reason as to who becomes an Ov¡¯l. ¡®Sinchara Khan was evil, and Hugh said he was just like me,¡¯ George replied dully. ¡®I have to die.¡¯ ¡®I won¡¯t let Reuben kill you just yet,¡¯ Valiant said, from his position on the other wall. ¡®Least, not ¡®til I get my money,¡¯ he added quickly, flashing them a roguish grin. Fi shook her head, smiling kindly at George. ¡®No one¡¯s killing anyone ¨C and there¡¯s no way we¡¯d let Valiant take you. And stop thinking you need to die. My reading of you says you¡¯re a good person. A little rough around the edges, but aren¡¯t we all?¡¯ She flashed him a quick grin. ¡®Life¡¯s not so fun if you keep wanting to die all the time. Kind of spoils it, you know?¡¯ As she said the words, George spied a flash of something in her eyes. ¡®I can¡¯t keep on living as a danger to you all.¡¯ George¡¯s voice was as hard as steel. Despite his antagonism, Fi continued smiling. ¡®You¡¯re a good person, George¨C¡¯ ¡®So was Sinchara Khan,¡¯ George bit back. ¡®At least, that¡¯s what I can tell from what everyone says.¡¯ It was Valiant who replied to him. ¡®Sinchara Khan¡­was the best¡­¡¯ the mercenary¡¯s voice was pained. ¡®The Reaver Society corrupted him¡­They Turned him!¡¯ His final shout echoed through the room, rebounding harshly off the walls, bludgeoning George¡¯s eardrums. George flinched. A minor fracture appeared in Fi¡¯s joyful persona: her smile faded somewhat, and the light in her eyes seemed to dim. Her eyes rested for a second on Valiant, before she turned back to face George. ¡®You will not Turn, George. I won¡¯t let you.¡¯ Her voice, which before had been so soft and delicate, was as hard as George¡¯s had been, echoing her grim-faced determination. ¡®I will not, under any circumstances, let you Turn. You are not dying today ¨C nor for any other day while I¡¯m around.¡¯ As George looked at her eyes, those eyes that still shone with kindness, he heard the words, processed them, and understood them. And believed them. A new determination surged through him. I will not die today. His hard face softened, donning the barest of smiles. In an instant, the hardness of Fi¡¯s voice and face was gone as well. She smiled broadly at him ¨C beamed, even ¨C and her eyes were alight with joy. ¡®Yes, George. You understand.¡¯ Her voice was softer than bedlinen, kinder than an angel¡¯s, sweeter than sugar-soaked candyfloss. ¡®You two finished your little heart-to-heart?¡¯ Valiant remarked with a grin. Fi turned to face him. ¡®If I were you Valiant, I would keep my head low ¨C especially now Hugh is back. Your Dragon Weaver was fun to fight, but that doesn¡¯t undermine the simple fact that there should be no Dragon Weaving anymore, not since the Ynaev destroyed the Dragonborn Scimitar. It is a forbidden strain of Weaving, a cursed strain. Reuben and the rest of them will have a lot of questions for you ¨C maybe even the Council of Masters will be getting involved, too.¡¯ George frowned. He hadn¡¯t realised Dragon Weaving was forbidden ¨C but that revelation brought up more questions than answers, as did Fi¡¯s reference to the ¡°Ynaev¡± and the ¡° Dragonborn Scimitar¡±. He followed Fi¡¯s gaze, eyes fixing on Valiant. ¡®How did the Red Dragon get Dragon Weaving?¡¯ Fi asked softly. Valiant¡¯s eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched, but he did not reply. # ¡®The boy must die.¡¯ Reuben¡¯s voice was hard. His blue eyes were as cold as ice, sending a shudder down Hugh¡¯s spine. Looking up from the hospital bed he was lying in, groaning softly to himself, Hugh glared at Reuben and shook his head. ¡®You will have to kill me first, Reuben, and I¡¯m a difficult man to kill.¡¯ He nodded to his wounds, as if to show the level of injury he could take. That battle with the Dragon Weaver had been very difficult; for the first time as a reaver, he wasn¡¯t scared of Reuben. His Cosmic Weaving seems like nothing after facing that Dragon Weaving¡­ Reuben¡¯s eyes narrowed to icy slits. ¡®It is only out of respect for you, Hugh, and respect for our kinship that I have not told the Council of Masters about your Ov¡¯l.¡¯ ¡®He has a name, you know,¡¯ Hugh bit back. ¡®As for our ¡°kinship¡±, our kinship ends when you start killing children, when we start judging people on mights and maybes.¡¯ Reuben¡¯s eyes narrowed. The air in the room suddenly felt very still. ¡®We must judge people on mights and maybes when those very same mights and maybes involve the Powers of the Ov¡¯l. Sinchara Khan Turned for a day ¨C a day, Hugh! And in that day, he levelled an apartment block, killed a thousand people ¨C your mother included.¡¯ His voice was hard; Hugh could hear the barely-suppressed anger in Reuben¡¯s words. Over the course of three years, Sinchara Khan had become increasingly erratic and manic. Hugh and the rest of the reavers had attributed it to stress: tensions had been high between the Reaver Society and the Ynaev, threatening another Great Space War, and coupled with that, the Society had been dealing with the vast numbers of hexes created by the huge death tolls of the Three Pandemics. All of the reavers had been under a lot of stress and had acted out on this stress ¨C Sinchara especially. Despite the efforts of Hugh and Sinchara¡¯s close friend, Grimoire Valiant, they had been unable to stop Sinchara¡¯s outbursts, which grew more violent by the day. Hugh had requested Sinchara take time out of the Reaver Society; Battlemaster Val and the Council of Masters, backed by Reuben, refused. The Reaver Society was under too much pressure in the aftermath of the Three Pandemics to give skilled reavers like Sinchara Khan any time off. I should have tried harder to get him out. I failed him. Hugh¡¯s stomach knotted itself a thousand times, twisting and writhing inside him. Sinchara¡¯s final steps to being Turned had come about at the hands of a disagreement with Hugh. Hours after Sinchara had stormed off, Hugh had been ambushed at his home by Sinchara, and in the resulting battle, his mother had been killed. Hugh¡¯s chest tightened at the thought of her. He wished Reuben had never mentioned her; the thought of his mother brought him only pain. Sinchara had spared Hugh his life in a bizarre display of morality, before fleeing to his childhood home in Windermere Heights. Soon after, Hugh had followed in pursuit to end his old apprentice¡¯s bloody crusade. And he had succeeded. Never again. I will not let the Reaver Society fail George like it failed Sinchara. ¡®Give George a chance, Reuben, please.¡¯ Hugh was begging now; he was desperate. Reuben was stubborn, but maybe if he could appeal to his compassionate side¡­ ¡®No.¡¯ Reuben¡¯s voice echoed through the medbay with a tone of finality. But Hugh wouldn¡¯t give up just yet. ¡®The Trials, Reuben. Put him through the Tria¨C¡¯ Reuben¡¯s eyes flared. ¡®The Trials? Are you insane?¡¯ ¡®Let him learn control,¡¯ Hugh pleaded. ¡®Fi and I, we¡¯ll train him.¡¯ Reuben shook his head. ¡®No. Out of the question¨C¡¯ ¡®He doesn¡¯t have to die, Reuben. Please!¡¯ Reuben¡¯s eyes narrowed as he studied Hugh¡¯s face carefully. ¡®Fine,¡¯ he said at last, huffing. ¡®He can take the Trials. If he passes, he can live but under our careful watch; any signs of Turning and we kill him. However, if he fails to have adequate control of his powers to pass the Trials, then we will execute him.¡¯ Hugh inhaled sharply. His face remained hard. Though they were in a better situation now than before, George still wasn¡¯t safe just yet. And what about the others, Cleo and Annabelle in particular, who despised the Ov¡¯ls? Would George ever be safe from them? -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #12: Powers Of The Ovl Pt I ¡®What is it?¡¯ Reuben asked sharply, striding into the control room of Taskforce Delta. His blue eyes glittered. With the power back on, Cleo¡¯s face was now brilliantly lit by the four huge screens hanging on the wall. She pointed to one of them, showing a meteorite crater surrounded by blackened forest. Smoke billowed in a furious wave, centred on a dark ¡°eye¡±: the meteorite. ¡®The Spacefall Taskforce have finished their investigation of the meteorite that landed near Marsheton,¡¯ Cleo said. Reuben cocked an eyebrow. ¡®And?¡¯ Cleo bit her lip. ¡®They found traces of an oulius pattern.¡¯ Reuben cursed. The presence of an oulius pattern meant for certain the meterorite had come from the Ynaev. All Ynaev-sent meteorites were cloaked in a pattern of oulius particulates, which helped protect and contain the magic artefacts contained within them. For every artefact, the pattern was different ¨C and it was up to the Artefact Taskforce to decipher which artefact the oulius pattern was for. That could be rather difficult. Reuben cursed. ¡®Those blasted Ynaev¡­What happened to our agreement? They were supposed to let us know if they send down any artefacts. It must be properly registered.¡¯ Cleo nodded, tapping on the keyboard hovering beside her. One of the screens on the wall shifted to show a detailed list of the Reaver Society¡¯s taskforces. After scrolling past the lists of First Rank and Second Rank Taskforces, she sifted through the list of Special Rank Taskforces. Most of the Special Rank Taskforces were currently in London, where the Council of Masters and Reavers HQ was located. She eventually found the Artefact Taskforce, bringing its data-logs up on the screen. ¡®Says the Artefact Taskforce has been dispatched. They¡¯ll let us know if they find anything.¡¯ ¡®And the Council ¨C what do they plan to do?¡¯ Reuben¡¯s voice was firm and cool, but his eyes were stern and sharp. She could almost see him bubbling up inside, like a geyser about to blow. ¡®The Council has beamed messages through the Lunar Portal to each of the Ynaev clan convocations and the Ume¡¯ere Conference. So far, the messages have been unanswered, though it is still early.¡¯ Reuben cursed again ¨C much harsher this time. Cleo winced. Reuben¡¯s curse was an especially foul one. She had never heard it uttered in China ¨C China¡¯s Maoist Union had outlawed such foul swears ¨C and even in the UK, she had heard it less than a handful of times. But, she surmised, Reuben¡¯s response was justified. The Ynaev were a grave threat ¨C one that couldn¡¯t be underestimated. ¡®The Council never learn caution, do they?¡¯ Reuben exclaimed. ¡®Val is too actionable ¨C she needs to better measure her decisions. Sending a message to the Ume¡¯ere Conference is fair enough ¨C they are the Ynaev¡¯s main governing body, after all. But sending a message to each clan only paints the Society as weak and frightened. We¡¯re playing right into the Ynaev¡¯s hands.¡¯ Cleo nodded, stomach twisting. So much was happening ¨C and so quickly too: George, the Red Dragon Warriors, and now this. It was almost like years ago, when they¡¯d faced the aftermath of the Three Pandemics and an almost-war between the Reaver Society and the Ynaev too. That was also the year Sinchara Khan Turned, she reminded herself grimly, thoughts lying on George Marsh, the Ov¡¯l currently in containment. It was a mistake letting him live, that much she knew. But if he fails the Reaver Trials ¨C as he will ¨C then he will be executed anyway. That¡¯ll be a pressure off our backs. George had only a week to train; most reavers had months. And without him, they could dedicate their efforts to resolving the other, pressing issues at hand. # Hugh winced, straightening himself up on the bed. He grabbed the holo-pad from his bedside cabinet and was just about to continue reading the newest ¡°Mirror Squadron¡± novel when he caught sight of the little boy hiding behind the door of the hospital bay. He sighed, forcing a kind smile onto his face. ¡®You¡¯re not supposed to be here.¡¯ His voice sounded far gruffer and irritable than he would have liked, but it was about as kind and gentle as he could manage. The boy poked his dark-haired head around the side of the door, mouth agape in a brilliant, toothless smile; he jumped back behind the door, giggling, as Hugh turned his head. Hugh couldn¡¯t help but smile. Oh, so we¡¯re playing a game, are we? The game went on for a good few minutes, with Hugh pretending not to spot the little boy each time he jumped back behind the door. As the minutes passed, the boy¡¯s giggles grew more and more ecstatic. However, the game was soon cut short by the arrival of the boy¡¯s mother. ¡®Jonah,¡¯ Cleo muttered, picking him off the floor. ¡®What are you doing all the way out here?¡¯ Jonah babbled some nonsense, then reached out a pudgy hand to squeeze her cheeks. Cleo laughed, but her expression turned cold as she fixed her eyes on Hugh. Her eyes, which had lit up vibrantly at the sight of Jonah, hardened to titanium. If her look were a hammer, it could¡¯ve bludgeoned a tank to bits. Before Cleo could speak, Hugh quickly interjected, ¡®Not in front of the little guy.¡¯ He nodded at Jonah. His voice was firm but absent of anger. She narrowed her eyes, rocking Jonah in her arms, then turned away out the room. The door shut behind her. Hugh sighed. Cleo never liked Sinchara ¨C I doubt she supports my decision to spare George. She¡¯s always been a ¡°big picture¡± kind of person, never one for all the small little interactions in life. Once she decided ¨C if she hadn¡¯t done so already ¨C that George posed a severe enough threat to the ¡°bigger picture¡± she envisioned, then she¡¯d betray Hugh in a heartbeat. It was a mechanical way of thinking ¨C almost robotic. Annabelle was similar. Always had been, even when they¡¯d been together. However, unlike Cleo, Annabelle had been close with Sinchara ¨C so close that, upon his Turning, she had refused to believe it. She had even tried to stop Hugh from confronting Sinchara out of fear the both of them, the two people she loved most in the world, would destroy each other. Takes more than just an Ov¡¯l to kill me. Hugh grinned to himself. The grin died, and he exhaled, thoughts straying to the fateful duel on the roof of Windermere Heights. The duel with Sinchara had been the hardest he had ever fought; that duel had taught him the true meaning of the Powers of the Ov¡¯l. Hopefully George can control his powers well enough that he won¡¯t Turn. But first, Fi and I need to get him through the Trials¡­ # ¡®You are an Ov¡¯l, immensely strong in Psychic Weaving.¡¯ Fi¡¯s white dress glittered in the bright light of Taskforce Delta¡¯s training centre; the lights gleamed, shining brilliantly off the whitened walls. ¡®To use Psychic Weaving is to control the minds of others, projecting into them what you want them to see and removing what you don¡¯t. But to control the minds of others, you must first learn to control your own mind by destroying the Pillars of Fear, Doubt, and Ego. The Pillar of Fear shall be our first foe.¡¯ The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. George bit his lip, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He had already faced his fears after his encounter with Rod in the delaeon. He didn¡¯t think he could do anything like that again. To see his father¡¯s death, to see his brother and sister, so fear-struck¡­even now, the bare memory sent shivers down his spine. Apparently, Fi had sensed his fear. ¡®George, I won¡¯t let anything happen to you. I know how much you have been through, and I will not put you through anything unnecessarily.¡¯ Her voice maintained its usual merry tone, but there was an underlying resonation to it, the barest of tremors. ¡®I will protect you, but I cannot hold your hand through these things. You¡¯re a man, or at least turning into one. A man should be able to stand alone and face his fears.¡¯ George nodded. Hugh stood alone when facing Sinchara Khan. I¡¯ll need to stand alone to beat the Trials. He inhaled sharply. I stood alone against Rod, but that was like a voidbeast standing alone against an ant. Against my Powers of the Ov¡¯l, Rod had no chance. And not every battle can simply be won with a furious punch. He shifted uncomfortably in his orange robe. At first, when he¡¯d first been presented the reavers¡¯ training robe, he¡¯d thought it was cool, like something out of a holo-film; but the fabric was coarse and rough, chafing his skin. He grunted irritably. ¡®George?¡¯ Fi asked, biting her lip. ¡®It¡¯s nothing,¡¯ he replied, tugging lightly on the robe. ¡®I¡¯m ready.¡¯ She smiled slightly and nodded. ¡®Good, George. Very good. Then we shall begin.¡¯ She paused. ¡®Sit.¡¯ With a mote of hesitation, he sat on the carpeted floor. She stepped towards him, then rested her hands on his temples. Her hands felt cool and soft. He tensed, heart pounding. What ¨C what¡¯s going on? ¡®Breathe, George. Breathe,¡¯ she said softly. He nodded, closed his eyes, and began the special breathing technique Hugh had taught him. At once, his beating heart slowed and his muscles relaxed. ¡®Keep breathing, George,¡¯ said Fi. ¡®This won¡¯t hurt a bit¡­¡¯ The coolness in her fingers disappeared in an instant to be replaced by a blistering heat that seemed to burn through his temples. George yelled and tried to move away, but Fi kept him in his place. For one of so lithe a frame, she was surprisingly strong; as much as George fought to break free, she kept him fixed in place. He was barely able to budge an inch. Sparks of lightning rattled inside George¡¯s mind like metal balls inside a bingo machine. A flash of light overtook him; for an instant, darkness set in, then he could see it all: every pulsing neurone, every spark of thought, all interconnected into a sprawling web of pulsating light. The neurons and their connections gleamed milk-white, shining like connected stars from the dark shadows of George¡¯s skull. His mind was as clear as the crystal waters of a lagoon. He tingled all over, buzzing with ecstasy and exhilaration. His first breath dissipated some of the shock initially but heightened his alarm. His breathing did not seem to come just from his mouth and nose; it felt as though his entire body was breathing for him, the pores of his skin opening wide to greedily gobble oxygen (at least, he assumed it was oxygen, though it felt far more energising; a single breath seemed to light him on fire). He became aware that he was moving down ¨C or what he perceived as ¡°down¡± ¨C floating through the maze of white neurons and thoughts. As his shock gradually began to dissipate, he noticed a strong grip on his hand and turned to see Fi beside him. His eyes widened and he let out a start. Her dress was gone, and she was naked, milky light dappling over her dark skin. Shadows hung in strategic places like black holes refusing to be penetrated. Her hair flowed behind her as if in water, its dark curls flailing like slow-moving serpents. She smiled at him with that dazzling smile of hers; George¡¯s skin tingled all over. It took him a second to realise he was no longer in that irritating orange robe: he, too, was naked. As he rushed to cover himself with his hands, he was thankful to the shadows, which had already covered him. Fi¡¯s smile was as broad and dazzling as ever; lightning danced down George¡¯s spine. ¡®Bit of a shock?¡¯ She laughed, a crisp and angelic sound. ¡®That¡¯s fair. Welcome to your mind, George. The mind is the most primordial part of a human; it is where humanity¡¯s essence derives. As such, we appear¡­¡¯ She coughed. ¡®¡­in our primal forms. But I thank you for the shadows, George. I did not wish to be exposing myself to you.¡¯ His eyes bulged. He had already seen a lot more of her than he had bargained for. ¡®Thank me? What do you mean?¡¯ ¡®The shadows are your making,¡¯ she answered. ¡®Or at least, the making of your subconscious. A surprise, certainly, considering what boys your age spend their lives thinking about. A welcome surprise, though I had prepared a Mental Shroud just in case.¡¯ Sensing his immediate questions, she continued, ¡®With enough control, you can change how you appear in another¡¯s mind, even disguising your appearance there entirely, provided you are considerably stronger than your opponent. Shrouds can be difficult to maintain, though ¨C especially in a mind as strong and unpredictable as an Ov¡¯l¡¯s. Still, at least your shadows save me from having to worry about that.¡¯ ¡®Can I¡­use a Shroud?¡¯ She nodded. ¡®In time. But first, there is something I must show you. Come. It is exciting!¡¯ Tugging his arm gently, like a toddler tugging at its parent¡¯s leg, she led him down through the spindles and wiry connections of his consciousness. They floated through the web, diving between milky strands until they finally came to a bulging, silvery mass at the centre of the web, as big as any planet and shining with intensity enough to rival a thousand supernovas. ¡®The hesphyal, Psychics call it,¡¯ Fi explained as they drew near; despite the strength of the silvery light, her nakedness remained draped in shadow. George almost congratulated his consciousness on its strength but caught himself. It was that strength, that innate power of his subconscious which made him and all other Ov¡¯ls so dangerous. It was that same strength that earned him the dark looks so many of the reavers of Taskforce Delta gave him. Definitely not something to¨C George cut his thoughts off, eyes widening maddeningly. He bit his lip, wincing sharply as the sonorous echoes of his thoughts ¨C uttered in his own, dull-grey mental voice ¨C rebounded through his mind, exploding through the dark recesses, reverberating between the axioms. George¡¯s whole body shook with the force of his thoughts. Again, he was reminded as to the Ov¡¯l¡¯s great strength. Fi glanced at him nervously, evidently slightly shaken, but her look faded to a smile. ¡®The Powers of the Ov¡¯l continue to astound me¡­with power so strong your mind can barely contain its own thoughts.¡¯ Her eyes gleamed with admiration. ¡®Brilliant!¡¯ She returned her gaze to the silvery mass of the hesphyal, positioned at the centre of the mind. ¡®The hesphyal is the centre of your consciousness, the focal point of your sanity and reason. It is here where you are bonded with the Psychic world ¨C with other Ov¡¯ls, even. You can detect other Ov¡¯ls, George, and that is something no doubt the Captain will wish to exploit. The hesphyal is very vulnerable; it takes little for the compromising of one¡¯s sanity. By the age of twenty, the average person¡¯s hesphyal is expected to be compromised. That is just the effect of the modern world. In the past, sanity was the norm; now, we all stand on the brink. Even for Reavers and basic Psychic Weavers, protection of the hesphyal is limited. Look at Hugh, for instance: ever since Sinchara Khan¡¯s attack, he has been teetering on the edge of insanity, the edge of oblivion. Occasionally, he has fallen, and it has taken a great deal of effort to drag him back.¡¯ ¡®What about your hesphyal?¡¯ George asked. The hurt that imbued her face immediately made him regret his question. ¡®I¡¯m sorry, that was very personal¨C¡¯ ¡®It¡¯s okay.¡¯ Fi sighed. ¡®Maybe some other time. This is about you ¨C not me.¡¯ She inhaled sharply and forced a smile on her face; George saw through it, saw the pain she was hiding beneath her dazzling grin, but didn¡¯t ask any further questions. ¡®Like I said,¡¯ Fi resumed, ¡®that is what an ordinary hesphyal is like. But you are an Ov¡¯l. For you, things are different. You have certain¡­protections¡­in your mind¡­¡¯ She pointed to a dark shadow lurking amidst the web of consciousness. It looked to be little more than a tentacled blob of black goo; it had red eyes, which gleamed furiously. As George looked, he noticed more of the tentacled things lurking between the neurons and axioms and cursed himself for failing to notice them. The very sight of them sent a shudder down his spine and a cold tingle across his body. ¡®An avidrak,¡¯ Fi explained. ¡®A type of curse found only in the mind of an Ov¡¯l. Yes, you heard me right. A curse inside your own mind.¡¯ She grinned. ¡®It¡¯s very cool. While there are defences in normal minds, these pale in comparison to the avidraks.¡¯ Her face sobered. ¡®I remember first training with Sinchara, entering his mind. There were ten of us ¨C only myself, Hugh, and Valiant escaped. We saw firsthand the Power of the Ov¡¯l over its own consciousness¡­We must hope they do not recognise us as intruders.¡¯ George eyed the tentacled avidrak with a mixture of awe and fear. Then one red-eyed gaze turned towards him and suddenly a thousand tentacled beasts rushed towards them¡­ -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk Reavers #13: Powers Of The Ovl Pt II The tentacled horde hurtled towards them in perfect silence, red eyes glittering like the fiery hatred of the Devil. The light of consciousness illuminated them, sending lines of silver rippling over their bodies. George¡¯s chest turned to ice; it was so cold the air had frozen itself in his throat. With every passing second, the avidraks seemed to get bigger. It wasn¡¯t just that they were nearing, no, but they were growing in size; where they had once been barely half the size of George, they were now quickly double his height, then triple, then quadruple¡­They reached a size so great they looked like dark moons orbiting around the light of the bright and brilliant hesphyal. Like an all-consuming tide of darkness, threatening to drown out all light. George shuddered, rooted in the spatiality of his consciousness by invisible chains. All he could do was watch the dark tide creep closer. Every heartbeat was like a furious punch, carrying with it the weight of mountains. Those eyes¡­those gleaming red eyes¡­They seemed to see his fear and laugh. And in those eyes, he saw glitters of gold, and a flurry of desperate thoughts overcame him: Sinchara Khan, Turning, Hugh, Windermere Heights¡­Sparks fired in his head, empty of action but full of furious lightning, searing his mind; he winced. It was then he heard the voices. They were shrill and tinny, distorted and murmurous. There must have been a thousand of them: sharp voices of iron and hate that seemed to echo through the bowels of his consciousness. Their words were biting, each syllable an inch of steel stabbing his eardrums. Soft, powerless, weak, one mocking voice hissed. Never could look after yourself: first your father was your shield, then your sister, and now the reavers. You will never be able to stand up for yourself¡­ He will Turn, came the terse clips of another. He cannot stand against the Powers of the Ov¡¯l. He is too weak. After those first two voices, they all seemed to coalesce into one furious cacophony of noise, scraping his skull like fingernails on a chalkboard, like sandpaper trying to smooth the folds of his brain. They seemed to come from everywhere, from every direction, every spatial point ¨C focussed on him. He knew, somehow, that those were the voices of the avidraks, which even now still grew in size¡­ The hesphyal¡¯s light was gone now, completely eclipsed. There was nothing ¨C only darkness. ¡®No fear, George.¡¯ Fi¡¯s face was unusually stern. Though her gaze was fixed on the avidraks, her eyes were distant, as if looking for a horizon. ¡®Fear is the mind-killer. It makes them stronger, the avidraks. You cannot let your fear rule you.¡¯ She paused. ¡®This is your mind, George. These avidraks ¨C they serve you. You are their master, their Ov¡¯l. Do not let them control you.¡¯ The avidraks were almost upon them. Fi¡¯s mouth twitched, and her eyes narrowed. She inhaled sharply, before splaying her arms wide. A barrier of solid pink light materialised between them and the oncoming avidraks ¨C a droplet of light in a sea of furious dark. Fi gulped; and though she tried to hide it, George noticed. His heart raced. Fi¡¯s hands remained splayed wide, supporting the barrier of pink light. She turned to George. ¡®I can only fend them off for so long. Only an Ov¡¯l can control the avidraks. I am too weak.¡¯ If she is too weak, then what does that make me? George shivered. His eyes wandered aimlessly across the figures of the avidraks, examining the dark shapes and contours that made them. The avidraks were so huge they all but drowned out the hesphyal¡¯s light. Finally, his gaze rested on those red eyes, bright, cold, and hateful. He repressed a shudder, gritting his teeth. The avidrak¡¯s voices buzzed all around him. Fear¡­is the¡­mind-killer¡­ He broke the thoughts out from the chains of fear, grunting from the exertion, trying to ignore the avidraks¡¯ hateful hisses. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the mind-killer. Cannot let fear control me¡­ The avidraks were almost upon them now, their dark shapes only paces away. He watched the contours carefully; the avidraks had shrunk ever-so-slightly, and he could see the barest hint of the hesphyal¡¯s silver light. Fear is the mind-killer¡­ He inhaled sharply. This is my mind, and I am in control! He grunted loudly and closed his eyes. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. He tapped into Voidsight, that technique Hugh had taught him back in the Dream Realm, breathing heavily and using the ¡°mental singing¡± technique Lilly had taught him. It was quicker this time, smoother. Already, he could see how much more able he was getting. The fire in his chest roared; he smiled. He wasn¡¯t quite sure what he had expected to see in the Voidsight ¨C but whatever his expectations, he could never had guessed this. Sheer blinding light ¨C infinitely stronger than any light he had ever seen before, stronger even than the hesphyal¡¯s ¨C overcame his vision. He could see nothing but furious light: no Fi, no avidraks, no hesphyal¡­But where fear had once plagued him, now he was overcome by elation. His body tingled with the realisation, and his smile grew to a grin. Finally, he understood. This is the Power of the Ov¡¯l, he concluded, allowing the light to wash over him and imbue him. His face hardened, but his smile did not die. I just have to control it. I must. He remembered the image of that man, with his long, dark hair and golden eyes. Sinchara Khan. He growled, clenching his fists; his biceps bulged, tensed and readied. I will not let myself Turn! He didn¡¯t understand what he was doing ¨C but at the same time, he did understand. It was instinct, though an instinct he did not know. He let the Powers of the Ov¡¯l guide him, trusting in them. He reached out to the light at a thousand angles, with a thousand hands reflected in a thousand cracked mirrors. The mirrors¡¯ sheened with gold, but he ignored it. The light, it seemed to coil around him, embrace him; the cold touch of fear was gone, and all he felt was the raw, blazing heat of power. ¡®George!¡¯ Fi¡¯s desperate call echoed through his Voidsight. ¡®George! I can¡¯t hold them! Only you can!¡¯ There is no fear. Fear is the mind-killer. George grit his teeth. Instinct, George. You must use your instinct. Let the Power of the Ov¡¯l guide you¡­ He could hear it whispering to him, but the without grating, icy tones of the avidraks. No, the whispers of the Power were soft and velvety, warm and comforting. The Voidlight, the whispers said, could be used, not merely observed through Voidsight. He just had to know how. They guided him through what he had to do ¨C and he followed the commands, wreathing power through his consciousness. On and on the power built within him. He smiled, feeling its needles prick his skin, flood his body with fiery energy. His skin burned, but he pushed through the pain, roaring. It seemed as though he spent millennia charging his Voidlight; in reality, it was only an instant. And when he had charged as much as he could, the energy was released. But it did not come out controlled ¨C the whispers spoke nothing of control ¨C but as a surging supernova of furious golden light. It rippled from every pore, from every cell and fibre of his body. Gold swept over his vision as though he were drowning in a roaring sea of it; not even the silver glow of the hesphyal could be seen. The barrier of pink light, splayed between Fi¡¯s arms, died in a single, flickering instant. Fi was lost from sight. As for the avidraks, gold light wreathed and shrouded them, and they shrank into nothingness, bad dreams expelled from his consciousness. He did not fear them. Not anymore. How could he? This power ¨C this glorious power ¨C roared through him. They were no match for it. They were no match for him. He smiled. I am not weak. I am not weak! I beat the Pillar of Fear! # Fi awoke. They were no longer in George¡¯s mind: the whitened walls of Taskforce Delta¡¯s training centre gleamed back at her. She got to her feet, pulling her dress around her where it had got loose. Rubbing her eyes blearily, she staggered across the floor to George. She felt ill, with a pounding headache, dry throat, and the unrelenting urge to just shut her eyes and fall asleep. That light, that golden light¡­that had been George, hadn¡¯t it? He had finally found his Powers of the Ov¡¯l. She tried to smile but failed. That golden light, she hadn¡¯t sensed any control in it. It was a raging storm, unaimed and undirected. Thankfully, it had struck the avidraks only, but still, Fi considered, she was lucky to have made it out alive. He must learn to control that power. He cannot let it control him, not unless he wants to Turn¡­She sighed. What have I done? If he already has power like that¡­What will he do? Looking down at the unconscious figure of George at her feet, she tugged his shoulder. He stirred, stretching. ¡®George, we need to talk. You can¡¯t do that again; you can¡¯t let the Power control you. The Pillars of Fear and Doubt left you, and the Pillar of Ego overcame you. Controlling your mind is about controlling all three Pillars.¡¯ She frowned. ¡®George? Are you listening to me?¡¯ He grunted something unintelligible and opened his eyes. Fi gasped as two bright, golden eyes fixed on her¡­ -- Follow on IG: writer_ec_23 Follow on Wattpad: SecretWriter575 Website: typinggalaxies.co.uk