A look around the plaza showed quite a different sight from when I first arrived. The Cage of flame dwindled with every second, the world stealing energy from it to counter my actions. The building around lay shattered by the initial explosion and broken further by the spreading fire. The fountain spewed water into the sky; the broken top no longer restricting the pressure from the pipes. The blue sky above was now clouded by ashes and soot from the burning city.

Part of me questioned the situation heavily. Had the evacuation finished? Where was The Archer? Had Scales gotten The Hero away? Did I need to finish this fight at all? All these questions and more drifted through my mind, but none succeeded in reaching the surface. None managed to sway me from the path I was on. So, failing to notice that my curse clouded my judgment, I prepared to engage The Warren once more.

In an instant, I gathered the remainder of shrinking flames together, producing a sizeable superheated sphere of fire. The Warren rushed towards me, his entire body filled with spirit. I had used the orb as a base for several small serpent-like heads, creating something resembling a hydra. My opponent prepared to cut them down in response should I use them against him, but they were intended for later.

I created more of the stone spikes from before and launched them through the center of the sphere of flame. This melted the surface enough for them to drag along a spattering of slag behind them as they flew towards The Warren. With an almost maddened smile on his face, my opponent swung his axe's pic against the molten projectiles. He took some of the heated material to the chest, but most of it was blown to the side by his weapon.

I continued assailing his attempts to approach with molten projectiles until the size of the orb of fire started to dwindle. By this point, The Warren was getting close, so I changed styles.

I used mana to fuse the material around me together, forging a weak short spear. With a spear in my left hand, my grip as far down as was reasonable, I waited for The Warren to engage me in a melee. This was yet another sign of my mind slipping out of my control. I didn't have to allow my opponent to get close to me, nor did I need a weapon, having resigned the occupants of this city to a few weeks of energy deprivation. But, I failed to notice the signs that I was losing control and allowed this farce of a fight to continue with a cheap disposable spear in hand.

When The Warren reached me, I did not wait for him to attack. Instead, I flung myself past his right side, dragging the tip of my spear through the air towards his side. Unexpecting of my tactic, The Warren failed to evade my attack, not that it mattered. I didn't put any form of technique behind my attack. As such, all it managed to do was rip away the side of his fur coat. The skin beneath left unharmed.

I spun to meet my opponent. He did the same, swinging his axe in a wide swing as he did. I leaned out of the reach of his swing, and using the slightly wider reach of my spear, I attempted to skewer his arm. This attack found a more significant purchase than the last, managing to pierce through the fur to the arm below. But, before I could follow through and drive the spear into him, he ripped his arm sideways, snapping the spear in half.

The Warren retreated a few steps, and with a brutal grunt, he ripped the half of the spear from his arm, a spurt of blood following the stone head. I used the opportunity to fashion another spear before chucking it directly at him like a javelin, using a bit of mana to accelerate its flight. The Warren noticed my new projectile and leaned to the side, altogether avoiding any damage from my attack. This did prevent him from sealing the wound in his arm, which continued to dribble blood onto the stones below.

Returning my attention to the orb of fire, I used the snakeheads to force The Warren back toward me. Each head nipping at him, threatening to burn him if he didn't move away from them. Away from them and towards me.

When he stepped in close enough, I fainted a lunge at his chest. The Warren ignored this, brought his axe up over his shoulder, and swung it down towards my damaged arm.

I stepped into the attack and lifted my arm to block. I once again avoided a hit from his weapon's blade, but the handle still struck my arm. With an almost audible crack as my collarbone finally broke in twain. My shoulder sagged, the bone holding it up no longer sound. My arm fell limp, still technically mobile, but the structure no longer supporting its strength.

I ignored my arm. I ignored the pain and the broken bone. I ignored everything except my goal. I stepped into my opponent's chest once more, dropping my spear behind me. And, with an open palm, I struck the stomach of The Warren, throwing him back into the waiting snakes.

The flaming snakes struck forward, coiling around his limbs and neck. Smoke started to rise from the area as the flames began to seer The Warrens flesh, not that he could be a stranger to burns. He struggled, pulling against the flaming binds, and if I'd tried to mark him as is, he would have escaped. But, I wove a spell into being, the circle spreading from my hand to encompass the area.

>Inversion of the elemental law

The spell name recited silently activated the flow of mana, creating a striking effect in the area. The flames warped oddly before suddenly hardening into almost transparent ice. The snakeheads seized their flickering movement, becoming almost ghastly sculptures. The air around us turned frigid, the world claiming the last of the heat to repair the damage I'd done.

Still struggling, The Warren quickly discovered that, unlike their previous form, the snakes now held firm. Unwavering in the face of his strength. Still, I wove another spell, unwilling to let him escape now that I had him bound.

>Binding chains from the abyss

I recited the spell name to myself, and with it, a series of black chains ripped from the ground and wrapped about The Warren. Now, I approached, sure that he would be unable to evade my attempt to place a tracking spell on him.

"Well, ain't this a bind? Whatcha gonna do to me?" The Warren said in a level voice. "Torture me all you wish; I can't tell you whatcha wanna know." This he said in an almost mocking tone.

"I know. I have no intention of torturing you." I wrote. I stepped in closer to my font of information. I pressed my good hand against his chest and started probing for a foothold in his body.

"Woh there, back up a bit. I ain't into guys like this." The Warren joked, unaware of my intention. "Wait, are you even a guy? Kind short for a feller." He continued his jokes while I found a spot to weave my mana inside of him. "Even if you aren't a guy, I'd still prefer a date or two before we do thi......" The Warren stopped midway through his sentence, likely realizing I was up to something.

"You may not be able to choose to tell me anything." I chose to clarify whatever thoughts he was having. "But, I can force you to lead me to what I want." With that, I started weaving a spell into his flesh.

To his credit, The Warren didn't scream out in pain. The Only sign he felt what I was doing being a grimace overtaking his face.

I approached the end of my work, the circle almost finished, the area around us now covered in frost. But, with a distinct sound that I hadn't hear for a while, I found myself in a building. My mask shattered under what I had to presume was a shot from the sniper, and my mind started to fade to a deep black. As I slipped into my mind, my only thought was that I hoped I didn't kill anyone.

The Husk slammed an open palm into the chest of what The Man chose to call Grey. The blow appearing to crush the ribs beneath the wrappings and throwing Grey into the wall of a nearby building. Grey responded with a grating whale, a voice crafted from a thousand dying animals. It was similar but different to the voice of The Husk. It tore into the mind of The Man, making him flinch backward away from the two. But, still, he kept his eyes on Grey.

The Husk seemed unaffected by the sound, only reacting by rushing toward the now collapsing building after Grey. Grey slashed at The Husk as it got close. An animalistic strike using a hand contorted into a claw shape swept down at The Husk's skull. The Husk swatted the blow away like one would a fly, and while stepping into Grey's chest, The Husk brought a hand down in a chop against the left arm of Grey.

A loud crack resounded out across the now nearly silent forest, and with it, Grey's arm fell to its side immobile. The sound was followed by a pained whale from Grey. Lunging at The Husk, Grey attempted another clawing motion with its right arm. But, THe Husk seemed to slide its back along the arm of its kin. The Husk grabbed the clawed hand of Grey, and spinning against the joint, snapped the limb against its back.

Grey whaled again, the agony of two broken limbs almost palpable in the sound. But, The Husk did not relent, taking the pained scream as an opportunity to launch a kick to the back of Greys knee, producing another gruesome snapping sound.

Grey fell to the ground, one mobile leg still attempting to stand but quickly pinned down by The Husk stepping on it. Grey's other three limbs lay limp, snapped by The Hus's brutal blows. The Whaling sounds now continued unceasingly, a constant barrage of grating screams with no direction to them.

The Man wanted The Husk to end this. Grey was clearly incapable of putting up a fight. The Husk's description of this being a hunt had been more accurate than the word combat. But, even that felt wrong, the actions resembled an execution more than anything. The snapped limbs, one leg left to force the prisoner to hop to the block in a final display of shame.

The Husk even strengthened the image, moving behind Grey and grabbing the back of their head, just like the executioner granting a final look at the sky. The Husk raised a hand to the sky, shaped like a claw, and THe Man thought this would be the end, that this blow would be the axe of the executioner.

How wrong he was.

The Old Man opened the door to a sight he'd known was coming but never wanted to see. Just under two dozen white robbed clergymen stood on the road outside the place The Old Man had built to protect the area's orphaned children. The one in the lead was one The Old Man recognized as the one who'd come before, asking to inspect the premises. He held a rolled-up document like a weapon. It might as well have been.

Even without reading it, The Old Man knew what it was. An authorization to inspect the facility in whatever way they deemed necessary, signed by the new town lord.

The Old Man knew what it was and knew the truth behind this farce of an inspection, but he still stepped out and shut the door behind himself to talk.

"Hello again, Father. What brings you here today?" The Old Man asked coldly, choosing to play dumb.

"As you advised last time we spoke, I have returned with the necessary documents to perform an unscheduled inspection." The priest said, his voice infused with that disgusting Holy Word skill. Shoving the parchment forward as if to stab The Old Man with it, the priest waited confidently for THe Old Man to take it.

The Old Man took his time to unroll the document and took even longer to read it. But, all he was doing was delaying the inevitable. So, with a heavy heart and a blatant look of disdain, The Old Man finished confirming that the document was genuine and returned it to the priest.

"Verry well." The Old Man said through partially clenched teeth. "Come inside; I'm sure you'll find everything in order." The Old Man said, opening the door for the gathering of priests to walk past him toward those he'd sworn to protect from ilk like them.

The glare of The Old Man intensified with each clergyman that walked through the door. Each with disgusting grins worn upon their faces. Each clearly overjoyed at the opportunity to put down what they referred to as an abomination.

>You won't find anything here, you wretched curs.He's long gone, and Torren collapsed the room on top of the Ether vortex.

The priests moved about quickly and efficiently. Checking every room and every crevice and giving reports to the one who seemed to be acting as the leader of the operation; the only one The Old Man had spoken with. The man seemed to be named Kerith, not that The Old Man cared.

It didn't take long for the reports to slow, followed soon after by Kerith approaching The Old Man with a face of minor irritation.

"I do have to ask, are all of the children under your care present here today?" Kerith asked with that irritating voice.

"You arrived before the morning send-off, so yes. All of the children are here right now." The Old Man watched his wording, cautious of any skill that was based around falsehood.

"I see," Kerith said, his voice only just covering his irritation. "Well, would you care to follow me? I have a few questions about the facilities." He said it in a way that made it clear he had no intention of accepting a no as an answer.

Despite his irritation about the situation, The Old Man chose to act the part of a meek man out of his depths. He followed behind the filthy church rat, answering any question that he posed.

"The courtyard in the back, what do you use it for?" Kerith asked, his voice flat.

"Maintaining the kids' bodies." The Old Man gave a half-truth.

"I noted that your only source of water is the well to the side of the courtyard; how often do the children bathe?" Kerith maintained a flat tone.

"I teach them to wipe down every day, with a more thorough wash weekly." The Old Man responded, frowning at the question.

"Are you the only caretaker?" The flat tone seemed to add to the irritation caused by the holy word skill.

"I have two helpers here right now, but usually, I am alone. I bring in wetnurses as needed." The Old man answered that question properly, hiding nothing.

"What do you teach the children normally?" Kerith's flat tone wore on The Old Man's nerves.

"Reading, writing, arithmetic, and other things needed for life." The Old Man wrapped combat training in with things like cooking and bartering.

"How long are the children usually under your care?" Kerith continued the seemingly pointless questions while walking a random path through the building.

"Nine years." The Old Man offered no other information.

"When do they leave your care?"

"I set them loose at fifteen."

"How are meals handled?"

"We eat together. Foo is made by a mix of the older kids and me."

"How do you acquire the funds needed to run this establishment?"

"I have a deal with the worker's guild."

"Indeed. I'll seek out the specifics with them later. How do you deal with trouble makers?"

"Depends on what they do. Usually, involves a discussion and then a punishment I deem suitable."

"Who handled the laundry?"

"I usually have them wash their own; younger ones get some help."

"Do you teach anything about history, folk tales, or the church?"

"Nothing so specific. I teach them only what they need to survive."

"Where is the beast child?"

The Old Man stopped, unsure he'd heard the question correctly. The question had come out in the same tone as everything else, slipped in as if trying to trick The Old Man into answering. "Pardon?" The Old Man asked.

"THe abomination, the beast child, the scourge upon these lands. WHERE IS THE HALF-GOBLIN?" Kerith dropped the flat tone the next time he spoke. His voice becoming more and more zealous with every word.

Before The Old Man could open his mouth to say anything, lie, truth, dismissal, anything, a different priest ran over and whispered into the ear of Kerith. "We found a collapsed staircase leading under the courtyard, father." The Old Man heard what was said and felt a lump form in his throat.

"Well, well well, Tell me, sir, what was in the collapsed room under the courtyard?" Kerith said, his twisted smile growing larger with each word.

"Used to be a cellar." Not a lie, that was what He'd used it as at one point. "but something left it unusable." The Old Man refrained from saying the word accident.

"Oh? Well, my men are working to repair it. I imagine you'll be quite pleased to have the use of your cellar back soon."Keriths voice dripped with a wretched glee, turned even more sour by the use of that skill.

The walk to the collapsed staircase was a painful one for The Old Man. He feared what would happen if they discovered the tunnel Hal had fled through. He hoped that they would fail to even uncover the ether vortex lest they figure out its significance. And he expected that nothing would go to plan.

Watching the priests dig through the rubble without doing anything took all of The Old Man's will. He wanted to step in and stop them. He hoped a second collapse would occur and crush them. But, all he did, was stand and watch in silence.

Once the entire room was excavated, The Old man followed Kerith down into the tunnel And; while standing around in the now empty room, The Old Man waited for one of the priests to notice the slightly newer wall or pick up a trace of Mana usage near the tunnel entrance. But, neither happened.

No one noticed the tunnel. They didn't notice the increase in ambient ether. And no one even paid the reconstructed wall the slightest bit of attention.

Kerith's face took on a grimace of irritation. The Old Man wanted to laugh at him, Mock him for finding nothing, but again, he stayed silent. Kerith's face didn't remain in that expression for long, quickly turning to a bland, almost sterile look. And it was with that emotionless look that he turned to THe Old Man and asked one question.

"I will ask one more time. Where is the half-goblin?"

The Old Man opened his mouth, and in his nervous state, failed to choose his words correctly. "I have no idea what you mean." A blatant lie escaped his lips. If he'd ended the sentence sooner, it would be true. He didn't know where Hal was, as he didn't construct the tunnel.

A look of recognition flashed across the faces of several of the priests, Kerith included. Each one quickly hid that look, replacing it with a stony expression that revealed nothing to THe Old Man.

"I had hoped you would prove to be more cooperative than this. We will be taking our leave now." Kerith said before leaving the room, followed by the rest of the priest.

The Old Man stood in silence for a second. Relief seeping into his mind. But, just before the relief turned into a sigh, The Old Man heard something from the doorway.

"Take the rest of the children. Maybe that will loosen the old fools tongue."

Those words were the final drop of water in the sinking ship of THe Old Man's mind. Everything he'd done to protect these children, even abandoning Hal and Instinct to protect the rest, was for naught. He had failed; he couldn't protect them.

That realization killed THe Old Man. In his place stood the tear-five Ruthless Reader of Currents, Sefahn Cronda.

"Lost at Sea."