Northern Alleys, Eastpoint, Bahim, Drum

  When Logan reached the scene he first smelt the stench of dead Bodies before he saw them, mounds upon mounds piled up. What massacre had occurred here, in the brief moment he was gone? Then, turning the corner, he saw Councillor Floyd crouching large and beast-like on top of Taylor. He was drawing away her Life. He looked up at Logan.

  Logan could not see Floyd’s face, but this shocking vision, paired with the knowledge that the creature before him was his father, made his body contort with nausea. He turned to the side and vomited.

  “Logan,” said Floyd.

  Oh — that voice was still so familiar. Logan had heard his name spoken by that man for years, for years! He thought he had left behind that life, but that singular word brought a torrent of memories crashing down on him. His father telling him to hurry to his lesson. His father teaching him how to use a bow. No — he had to do away with it all.

  Logan cried out and charged at Floyd, who leapt off of Taylor and charged as well. And when they met it was not just blades clashing, but Connexion, laden with fear and disgust and horror. All the Connexion that Logan had been holding back when he was fighting Taylor’s men, so as not to kill them, was unleashed. Floyd did not use Barrier Connexion, but rather allowed Logan’s lightning to rip and tear his flesh. Floyd’s Body was, however, coursing with so much Life that the wounds closed immediately. Logan did not even notice this as he pushed forward in savage rage.

  And then, with a scream, Logan pushed his fauchard forward, impaling Floyd through the abdomen. Logan stopped, breathing heavily. He looked up. The hood of the Black Cloak had fallen, and Floyd’s face was visible, but he looked young, too young, even younger than Logan. Logan bristled. Floyd smiled and, to Logan’s horror, began pushing himself foward towards Logan, driving the fauchard deeper through his own abdomen. Logan almost let go of his fauchard in horror, but Floyd’s claw-like hands gripped his hands and pulled him in closer. Then, when their faces were almost touching, Floyd reached out and grasped Logan’s neck with his hands.

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  “You could have been the child of the new world,” said Floyd. His raspy voice made his youthful face even more surreal. “You could have stood by me. You could have seen an ordered world, a true world. But you had to scurry away like a rat.”

  Floyd started to squeeze, drawing Life away from Logan, and Logan felt now an agony unlike anything he had felt before, a shocking cold ripping into his Body, drawing away his very being, his very existence.

  “You could have seen your mother again,” said Floyd. “And we would have been whole.”

  Logan’s eyes widened. He started kicking with his feet, but they were already weak. He was already losing grasp of his Body.

  “Very well,” said Floyd. “Die.”

  Logan was at the border of consciousness. He knew that if he fell, he would never return. The light was flickering, and an infinite darkness threatened to descend upon him. And then, a light — or perhaps an idea, or a memory, of a light. It was light in the form of a voice, and it said: “fight”. It was the voice of Esmeralda, the Deer Lop.

  Logan gave a final struggle. He swung his arms about, trying to find his fauchard.

  “Oh?” said Floyd.

  “Fight,” said the voice. Then the voice changed, and the voice had a face. It was Hazel, and she said this: “live”.

  Live. Logan wanted to live, despite it all. The acceptance of life was one of relief and fear and horror and love, and Logan erupted into a thousand bolts of lightning. Floyd cried out in surprise and let go of Logan, shielding himself with Barrier Connexion, but Logan was relentless. He had become one with his Connexion, his lightning. It was as was written in the Old Scriptures. At his dying breath, Helion exploded into a burst of Light which shredded Death into three pieces, the three Artefacts of Death. And thus was the Old Scripture repeated. Floyd stumbled back, and tried to draw Life away from around him, but all that surrounded him were Bodies of the dead. Floyd felt his limbs ripped away from his torso, his organs spilling out, and all of his Body burning, letting out a filthy stench.

  Then at last the lightning died down and Logan stood over the dying Floyd, who was now just a head attached to half a torso. Logan picked up his fauchard and raised it over his head.

  “Goodbye, father,” he said, and plunged it down onto Floyd.