Pain.

Its flooding through my body like a tidal wave of cold, raw suffering. My breathing grows ragged as blood soaks my clothes, oozing from the gunshot wounds the Order conscripts had so kindly blasted into me with their pistols. A sinister numbness begins to settle over me as my body refuses all instructions to move. But underneath the numbness, the pain still makes itself felt. As my vision swims in and out of focus, it takes all my willpower to stop myself from just drifting away with the tide of agony.

"There we go." the Order sword master says in satisfaction. I hear the rasp of metal as my opponent sheathes his sword, standing victorious over me.

"You cheated ... you bloody cheated ..." I attempt to growl, but my cursing comes out more like a gargle.

"It was for your own benefit, Mac." Mills' voice chimes in as I shift my head slightly, I realize that my client and the Order sword master are standing side by side.

"Mills?" I burble stupidly, trying to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of me.

"If Mandor dueled you for real, Mac," Mills sighs, "You would have been killed several times over by now. Believe me, I've seen how good he is with that blade."

"Your praise is too kind Master Rahm." Mandor, the Order sword master replies, as he performs a courtly bow to Mills, "But that being said ..."

Mandor's voice trails off meaningfully and the sword master turns around, presenting Mills with his back and the pouch secured to it. Without missing a beat, Mills opens the pouch and places a large fistful of gold into it. As the pouch greedily swallows the small glittering waterfall of gold, my anger explodes at the depth of the betrayal.

"TRAITOR! FUCKING TRAITOR!" I howl in fury before breaking off into a series of hacking coughs. The metallic taste of blood wells up in my throat and I swallow hard to avoid throwing up all over myself.

"I never betrayed you Mac." Mills' voice is even, but he doesn't look me in the eye while speaking, "You were sent by the House of Robeur, and they were hired by my family."

"What's the difference?" I pant, my strength rapidly fading. In the distance, I hear the goblins marching toward the dig site and the sounds of slaughter. Men and women screaming. The scent of freshly spilled blood begins to permeate the air.

"The House Patriarch intends to disown me." Mills gestures vaguely into the distance, "I found out about it, got in contact with the Order of Impartial Justice and well, I suppose you can guess the rest."

"Bastard. Your staff, the men and women," I gurgle as black spots begin to obscure my vision, "none of them asked for this. You could have just left for another town."

"The staff? They don't matter." Mills dismisses, this time looking directly at me, unrepentant, "And we need the camp's supplies and the extracted magic for -"

"That's enough Master Rahm." Mandor rumbles from the side, "That's information for people who actually matter."

I turn to the side as tears run down my face. That arrogant dismissal stung to the core. I spent my whole life trying to make something of myself. And this is how it all ends. But there's a sudden yank as Mandor pulls at my hair, forcing me to face him.

"I want to see whether or not you are a person who matters." Mandor breathes down at me, "Whether you are something more than a pathetic abortion."

Mandor still wears that baclava, effectively shrouding his features. But the man's eyes shine with honest curiosity and an intensity that verges on frightening. And when he speaks again, I can do nothing other than listen.

"As I said earlier," Mandor picks up the thread, "the first raid was meant to kill both you and Christina. The goblin war pack we arranged to attack the camp was a force that neither of you could overcome."

"Someone obviously fucked up." I snort derisively, trying to get in some satisfaction where I can.

"No. No one fucked up." Mandor shakes his head, "We double checked the challenge rating for that encounter. It was at least four times the battle value of a sword master and an apprentice, regardless of the possible permutations in deployment."

"You're talking weird ..." I slur, my concentration starting to slip. Holding on to consciousness had become a losing battle.

"Master Rahm was in quite a panic when you returned victorious." Mandor chuckles to himself, "But once everything had calmed down, we were able to make the proper arrangements to lure you back here."

My head lolls uselessly about as Mandor relaxes his grip on me. In the distance, I see the camp on fire, the flames casting lurid shadows that dance all over the horizon. An unnatural silence has settled over the entire battlefield, the goblins having finished off the camp staff and set to looting it with mechanical precision. Supervising the pack are the Order conscripts, fiddling away at those glyphs they use to control the monsters.

"I had also caught sight of your sword after you had killed the goblin warlord." Mandor continues, hunched over me, "Its a Springvale Sword isn't it? The first proper blade you ever wielded, am I right?"

"A gift from my parents." I choke out, "Its none of your business anyway."

"That's where you're wrong, Mac." Mandor smirks, "That sword was partial confirmation of a suspicion I've been having about you."

"Lost potential, Mac." Mills suddenly interrupts, "The sword represents your lost potential."

"Well, yes." Mandor harrumphs, "Though its provenance is what's really important. Master Rahm is just somewhat sore at the differences in your respective circumstances."

"Don't understand." I drool as fatigue seeps deep into my bones. Mandor and Mills are talking absolute garbage. What does Mills have to be jealous about regarding me?

"Never mind." Mandor shrugs and stands above me, "There's no need to indulge in guesswork here. We'll have all the answers we need from you soon enough. Hand me that Logoo, Master Rahm."

From the folds of his jacket Mills pulls out a glowing glyph, similar to the ones wielded by the Order conscripts, but this glyph is painted in the shade of piss yellow.

"Its a Logos, Mandor." Mills comments with a frown while passing the glyph over, "Treat the words of the gods with more respect."

"They're not around to care either way." Mandor scoffs as he towers over me, fiddling away at the glyph, "Now first I have to move the Logos like this?"

"You need to lock on to Mac first." Mills instructs, "Move the stroke to the right, no, not that right. The other right."

"Its so complicated." Mandor grumbles, "Fine, that should do it. The Logos is responding, I think."

"Just let me do it." Mills mutters as he takes the glyph back, "You're terrible at this. Alright, we're locked on. Now I just send the word of reset, aaaand, we're done."

"Great." Mandor smiles picks up my sword from the ground. In a single instant, my eyes flick fully open in horror as Mandor swings downward at me, opening up an artery on my leg. I don't feel anything, the pain having mixed into the morass of suffering I'm already experiencing. But the growing wetness gathering around my leg does not lie.

"You're bleeding out, Mac." Mandor comments as he takes a rag out and begins soaking it from a bottle of pungent liquid, "And no one is coming to save you."

"That's plenty of sedative." Mills observes from the side with an eyebrow raised.

"Eight hours of sleep." Mandor says, "That's what the scrolls say."

Mandor grunts as he shoves the rag into my face, sealing off my mouth and nose. The vapors from the medicine quickly overpower me and I feel myself plunging into an endless abyss. My fingers weakly twitch, pulling at the hem of Mandor's trousers. Around us, the goblins form up into orderly ranks before marching off deeper into the Beyond, hauling away all the loot they had purloined from the dig site. Small groups of goblins heft tanks of extracted magical energy on their backs, knees buckling under the strain. But not a single one of the monsters complains as they move lock step with each other.

"Springvale. That's where it all began for you." Mandor hums, "I wonder, what happened that turned you this way?"

"It could have been the same thing that happened to me?" Mills suggests, but the questions don't register in my blanked out mind.

"I don't think Mac ever came into contact with a Logos. The tell tale signs aren't there at any rate." Mandor rebuts, "Like I said, he's an abortion. A mistake this world made."

"Plenty of that going around these days." Mills sighs as he looks up into the sky.

"Don't look so glum Master Rahm." Mandor laughs, "If not for those mistakes, people like us would remain what we were always meant to be. Natural slaves."

"Some days, I do believe that things would have been better that way." Mills shuts his eyes, "Life would be less complicated."

"But you can't turn back now." Mandor says, "Not after knowing the truth."

"But does knowing do us any good?" Mills asks almost plaintively.

"It has to." Mandor growls with surprising heat, "The Order's sacrifices mean something. What we're doing has to make a difference."

Mills merely nods sadly at this declaration before looking at me, his eyes still wet. My sight churns as the medicine takes the last of my consciousness.

"What comes next is up to you." Mills' voice echoes from far away, "But remember one thing, Mac. In this world there are two kinds of people. Those who matter -"

"And those who don't." Mandor crows.