None of this should be happening. Springvale is nowhere near the Beyond, the place where magic reigns supreme. Springvale is in fact located in the direct opposite direction behind a pass that is literally impenetrable for a good quarter of the year. There's zero trace of magic in the land, to the point where the village can't install magitech devices such as streetlights simply because there's no magical power to run them with. My hometown, by every reasonable measure, is the safest, most mundane place in the world.

Everything I just said is eminently reasonable and quantifiable. No one would even think of disputing it.

And yet here I am, in the middle of a ruined church missing its roof and several parts of its floor, that is well in the process of flying up into the sky totally unassisted. There's no magic present that's performing this feat. Neither is materialism feeling particularly pissed off. Its almost as if what's happening right now is the most natural thing in the world.

"That's stupid." I mutter gritting my teeth, desperately wishing for sense to return to the world.

But the next thing I know is the velocity of the church's upward flight pressing me flat on my belly, banishing any hope I had. I manage to squint into the sky and see the bell tower continuing its ascent as well, with Ramon hanging on for dear life. In a blink of an eye, the bell tower pierces through the clouds and disappears from sight.

At least the church's take off has presented problems for the bandit mob as well. Many of them having fallen to their deaths thanks to chunks of the floor collapsing under them. Without magic to bolster their physical toughness, most of the mob has been stunned outright by the church's sudden take off, tumbling haplessly to their doom. The few who have managed to keep their wits about them hang on for their lives by the edge of their fingernails or desperately try to pull their comrades back to safety.

I click my tongue in annoyance as this minor reprieve is interrupted by the clouds disgorging another wave of sky bandits right at me. No matter how many members of the mob bite the dust, there's a never ending number of sky bandits ready to make their entrance. My eyes flick back to the torn painting of Enn, the first human, descending from the heavens. I had always thought the story was little more than a myth, but I have to say present experience is strongly making me reconsider that belief.

If people could descend from the sky, did that mean the rest of the legend was true as well? Just what is beyond the sky? Heaven? The land of the creator gods themselves?

The clouds grow steadily closer as the ruined church speeds up its flight. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what is to come. Despite myself, I shut my eyes tight, the fear of the unknown too great for me to bear. The wind whistles by my ears as we plunge into the clouds. And then -

The pressure lifts. We've stopped moving.

There's groaning all around me as the bandits begin to recover from the ordeal. Staggering back to my feet, I notice through the gaps in the floor a solid carpet made out of clouds. So its true then, we're hovering over the world right now. Swallowing hard, I turn my eyes back up and catch sight of the bell tower, hovering in the distance. Ramon waves back from the bell tower at me, worse for wear but not in any current danger.

And then I notice the monstrosity looming over the floating bell tower like a mountain.

Its a small island, floating by itself in the sky and enshrouded within a semi-transparent sphere that serves as an ad hoc border. A dry inhospitable place, with odd bits of gnarly shrubbery serving to liven things up. The natural landscape is not the main attraction here though.

Dominating the island is a fortress constructed out of ebony stone complete with massive towers mounted with cannon and walls thicker than anything I've seen. A portcullis forged from rusty red iron secures the fortification's entrance, giving the impression of a snarling creature, ready to pounce at any moment. With the island's landscape bereft of cover, whomever controlled the fortress could easily rain death on anyone who breached the protective sphere and made land fall there. Banners adorn the fortress's walls, proudly displaying the insignia of its owner, an inverted bloody palm print. The number one cause of nightmares for children and before the arrival of Hero Gallant, the number one cause of violent death in the world.

The personal battle standard of the demon king.

I can't believe this. The demon king's castle is supposed to be in the Beyond. So what in the world is this fortress? If anything, this fortress looks far more impressive than pictures of the actual demon king castle that I've seen. From between the ramparts I can see goblins and trolls patrolling, not taking notice of the bell tower or church floating about near their fortifications. A flight of winged, bird like demons swoop over the landscape of the island, scanning for intruders. The bell tower and the church should be well within the sight of these scouts. But there are no cries of alarm from the defenders. Anything outside of the sphere might as well not exist to them.

"The monsters can't see us." I exclaim in understanding, "We can see in, but they can't see out."

What does any of this have to do with the legend of Enn? Or the bandits who descended from the sky for that matter?

Craters pockmark the surface of the island, evidence that someone had managed to breach the protective sphere. The demons would have opened fire on the intruders with their cannons first. There are no corpses on the island, but all that means is that the demons cleaned up the battlefield after the cannons flattened anyone stupid enough to attack the fortress. The walls show no sign of damage either, so most likely nobody managed to get past the artillery to seriously test the guards manning the ramparts.

My attention is rudely turned back to the present by a wounded bandit limping at me and dragging his sword behind him, snarling like an animal. The rest of the mob has already begun to rally and small clumps of men begin to edge toward me once again, like hyenas stalking a wounded lion. I shuffle backward, my back hitting what's left of the church's wall. I hand sweeps toward my side out of habit, searching for the faithful Springvale Sword.

And only then I remember that my sword has been buried under the mountain of corpses that has accrued in the course of the battle. The bandits notice this faux pas and the mob leers as one, closing in.

"Fuck it." I curse, my foot sweeping out and catching the tattered canvas of the painting of Enn. With a light flick of my foot, the canvas is sent flying into the air where I manage to catch it easily. With a twisting motion I roll the canvas up, turning it into a makeshift club. The canvas might be surprisingly tough but its still not much of a weapon.

"Bring it." I snarl at the bandits. I'll just have to make do. Its either that or dying.

And I don't feel like dying today.

The snarling bandit rushes at me, hungry for blood. A swing of the rolled up canvas rips open a bloody gash on his forehead, causing the bandit to collapse into the mob with a glazed expression on his face. As the feedback of the blow travels satisfyingly up my arm, I nearly scream in horror as the canvas begins to disintegrate into fine powder.

"No!" I gasp as the canvas crumbles, leaving me weaponless. The church shakes again and there's a low grating noise, like rusty gears turning. My eyes frantically scan the church, looking for the source of the noise, finally landing on the pulpit as it trembles with suppressed intensity.

As the noise reaches its climax, the pulpit shatters in a flash of golden starlight. The mob and I shield our eyes from this sudden assault, but I feel the starlight begin to pierce every pore of my body, unrelentingly forcing itself deeper and deeper into the very core of me. I scream, surging what remains of my magic to flush out this invasion, but its no use. My body welcomes the starlight, drinking it up. And there's a crawling sensation underneath my skull, as if there's something growing inside, like a tumor.

The source of the starlight hovers high above all of us, showering the entire church with its radiance. But I somehow know, despite all the discomfort, that the light is meant for me and only me. I feel my insides twist and images of movements, no fighting techniques, begin to unlock within my mind.

"Its the same thing he did." I cry out in pain from the migraine ravaging my head, "Back in Deshawn City, at the canal."

The Stabber's secret technique. I can perform it as well. I have always been able to do it.

How could I have been so blind?

Because the knowledge was barred to me. Hidden away in a dark corner of my mind. It was the starlight's illumination that returned the technique to me.

But that's not really a star hovering over the mob and I, isn't it? Its a glyph. A rune. No, that's still not correct. Mills and Mandor called it by another name.

Yes, I remember. A Logos.

A Word of God.