Is a "sword" a euphuism? (BL)

The ringing clued me in.

Again and again, I dialed Archer on my smartphone. Each unanswered call heightened my apprehension. It was only when I arrived at the site of the breach that I grasped the true severity of the situation.

The breach had unfolded in the laboratory of Dr. Dwight Huter. In retrospect, it seemed painfully obvious. The name, after all, meant 'the white protector'. But the most damning clue lay discarded on the floor - a smartphone. It was an anachronism in this era and on its screen, a missed call notification from 'Mercury' – a pseudonym for me. That smartphone had also morphed into an iPhone. 

Was that a clue? Was Apple significant in some way? 

It didn't have time for that. 

Archer was nowhere to be found, and the lab was in chaos. The expensive scientific devices were torn apart, with naked wires sparkling. There were various liquids spilled on the floor, mixing with debris. Fortunately, no fires. 

The breach, I surmised, was the likely culprit.

Boaz's silent voice interjected in my thoughts, If your supposition that Archer is Dwight is correct, then he can no longer serve as a control in the experiment to determine whether the combination of psychic powers and other supernatural phenomena cause epistaxis, or if it's a unique property of this brane. After all, he also possessed psychic powers, gained through a similar experimental procedure.

The breach had long since closed, leaving an invisible scar in the fabric of reality. There was no immediate danger – if there was, Arnold would've warned me.

I was about to delve further into the scar when a sudden tug on my hazard suit diverted my attention. I turned to find Igor holding a torn robotic arm, identical to its own.

"I see," I said, appraising the damaged limb. "Is it repairable, Igor?"

Igor's single, glowing mechanical eye shook a negation. It was a surprisingly expressive gesture for a sphere attached to robotic arms and legs, especially considering it couldn't talk.

Some might consider defective Companion Core trash, but I found its muteness more a feature than a bug.

"Pity." Companion Cores were much more expensive than normal ones. They were the last step before GLaDOS. "Continue the search, Igor."

As the mute core rummaged through the wreckage, I scrutinized the remnants of the breach. The angle of insertion was odd, too low. Thankfully, it was orthogonal to the time axis, averting any temporal drift. Spatial drift, however...

If the curve were more parabolic, it could almost pass for a translocation. The three-dimensional spatial projection closely mirrored the curvature of the Earth's surface.

The energy readings were equally baffling. If my calculations held up, this breach either led to literal nothingness or to a parallel world, one very close to ours. An adjunct world, similar to the Unseen, only more material.

If it was localized, it might even be on the same continent. The elemental composition was promising too. Inhospitable to human life, yes, but not immediately lethal. My attire should provide ample protection. High ether and earth, slightly above average air, and low water. The fire was exceptionally low.

Armed with this data, I was confident I could reopen the breach without resorting to brute force.

A worry lingered. I had the magical energy, between my od and the mana from the Otherworld, but I wasn't sure of the aftermath. The Black Arts induced massive bleeding and mild headaches, akin to overuse of psychic abilities. A severe headache usually followed, a precursor to losing consciousness as the brain fought to protect itself.

Until I could map the effects of my other supernatural powers properly, caution would be my watchword.

New limitations were a nuisance, but they were preferable to being a ghost.

Having a smartphone was a godsend when dealing with complex calculations. Interestingly, when I shifted the form of the smartphone, data from the Mystic Code carried over. The data even came with an app I had previously programmed into it.

Igor returned, presenting a small stack of research notes. Skimming through them, I learned about a humanoid monster, sensitive to blood, an ambush predator vulnerable to fire.

Pity I didn't have my flamethrower. I didn't anticipate needing it, and now it was too late.

I surveyed Igor's gear. A portal gun, a spare one, and a backpack equipped with an expandable hose. No, not a flamethrower, I had left that behind. It was a gel dispersion unit for Conversion Gel, turning any surface it touched into a portal conductor.

Before discovering this, portal gun usage was confined to specially prepared labs. The main ingredient of Conversion Gel, moon rocks, made Aperture Science's Handheld Quantum Tunneling Device a costly venture. However, I had a plan for the supply issue. But first, I needed to focus on the task at hand.

I hadn't brought much equipment in my haste—just the hazardous material suit and the smartphone.

But my smartphone was not just a phone; it was a sword and Mystic Code. Specifically, a diode I had used as a base for Mystic Code.

This uncovered a fascinating property of superposed items. The whole item would shift forms, not just the base part. For instance, when I transformed the diode into a sword, the entire Mystic Code became a sword instead of a sword bursting from the Mystic Code.

Simultaneously, my hazardous material suit was also a black and white striped ghost suit, elven armor, a cozy comforter, and a Book of False Attendant.

This Book of False Attendant appeared to be one of Zouken's better works. Besides containing a Command Seal, which was useless without a Servant, it was Mystic Code that held three stored spells, basic Reinforcement, and two curses. It came with a continuous supply of magical energy.

It required neither knowledge nor magical energy input from the user. Expected, considering the intended recipient.

Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't serve me much use. I could cast such basic spells myself. However, the advantage was that the book was the one doing the casting, not me.

Staring at the void where the breach used to be, I couldn't help but lament, If only I had a few prepared gems.

The delay was a luxury I could no longer afford. The breach needed to be reopened. Yet, my seemingly inactive state was for a crucial purpose.

Boaz, are the calculations I performed ready for verification? I asked, silently calling out to the mechanical entity within my mind.

Yes, came the instant reply, devoid of any uncertainty. I have found no errors.

Arnold, I switched my mental recipient, be vigilant.

His reply came back swift and sure. I am always vigilant.

Turning my attention outward, I addressed my Companion Core. "Igor, be prepared for any eventuality."

Igor, despite being unable to speak, was quite expressive, raising a thumb in acknowledgment.

I felt the heft of the smartphone in my hand, the cool metal surface giving way to the mystical interface of the Mystic Code as I shifted it. I began channeling mana from the Otherworld into all five gem capacitors. In line with the elemental composition of the remains, this should create a sympathetic resonance, allowing me to target precisely where the breach had initially opened.

Names of seven angels were meticulously selected, ensuring their numerological sum equated to the resonant frequency while maintaining the same proportional elemental composition.

With these and a few other minor details in place, it was time to activate it.

"Retrace," I declared, the command echoing in the silent lab as I fired a beam of five colors along the correct vector. The beam collided with the empty air, transforming it into something far from empty.

A new portal materialized, appearing organic, as if a living membrane. Coiling, animated tentacles wrapped around the exterior, lending an alien feel to it. The tentacled tissue was pierced, revealing a darkened building on the other side. A surprisingly normal-looking building, save for the mass of writhing tentacles.

With a decisive command to Igor, "Come!", I plunged through the threshold of the portal.

The landscape that greeted us was far from the expected exotic alien terrain. An eerily deserted street, flanked by two-story residential apartments, stretched out in front of us. The buildings were quaint, their designs reminiscent of a quiet Midwestern town—save for the disquieting absence of life, the encroaching wilderness, and the omnipresent tentacles.

As anticipated, the portal vanished behind us, leaving no trace of its existence.

"So, this is Xen," I muttered to myself, surveying the ghost town under a stormy sky. It was decidedly different from the floating rocks in a glowing nebula I had envisioned. Moreover, the absence of immediate threats was both relieving and unnerving.

It might not be Xen, Leo's voice broke through my thoughts.

The probability of two border realms is significantly low, Boaz retorted, the logical skepticism evident even in his silent communication.

Arnold, ever the mediator, offered a compromise. This could be a portion of Xen that has ingested a small town. We should gather more information before drawing conclusions.

Nodding to their collective wisdom, I turned my attention back to Igor. "Establish an extraction point here."

Obediently, Igor began spraying Conversion Gel onto a dilapidated wall nearby, rejuvenating it with a fresh coat of white. He then fired the spare portal gun, embedding half of a portal onto the freshly coated surface. Efficient as ever.

While Igor was busy with his task, I attempted several scrying spells to locate Archer. But each effort was met with an odd interference, thwarting my magical senses.

The persistent nosebleed within the confines of my hazard suit was hardly helping either. Enclosed as I was, the only remedy available to me was to tilt my head back, a futile attempt to slow the trickling annoyance. The blood stubbornly made its way down my upper lip, tainting my tongue with its coppery taste—as bitter as taste failure.

As I licked under my nose, ridding myself of the accumulating blood for a moment, one question weighed heavily on my mind: What now?

If direct means do not work, you should try indirect ones, Arnold silently advised.

Even with Arnold's wise words echoing in my mind, I found myself at an impasse. Time and materials, essential elements for creating my typical familiars, were not on my side. The gems in my Mystic Code could perhaps serve as a makeshift solution, but relying on them meant sacrificing my ability to reopen the portal.

Psychometry was not my strongest suit. That was usually Archer's domain. Nevertheless, I wasn't entirely inept. The road beneath me seemed oddly devoid of history, its past almost wiped clean. Yet I could still glean a trace of what had transpired - a monstrous entity had passed here, bearing a human captive.

Although the tracking method was inefficient, it might prove useful. However, I couldn't ignore the fact that I needed a tool - a tool that could guide me to Archer. Given the circumstances, logic and conventional methods were falling short. I required something that didn't conform to the Sense of Man. In other words, I needed a daemon.

There was an old saying among the Magi: "Amateurs summon demons, professionals make their own."

Crafting a daemon was well within my capabilities, even if it had been a while since I last dabbled in such Art. The spell I planned to use was ingrained within my Magic Crest, a resource that bypassed the need for incantations.

But this was a spell I had rarely had the chance to use since my departure from Fuyuki. Practicing such arts in God's own country was tantamount to courting disaster. Furthermore, meddling with false souls in Arda was sheer folly. Being dead hadn't offered many opportunities or need for daemon crafting either.

And yet, here I stood, weighing the necessity of a skill I had barely touched in years, ready to dip my fingers back into an arcane craft. It was a peculiar set of circumstances, to say the least.

"I copulated with my fist, I emitted semen into my shadow, I ejaculated into my own mouth."

Visualizing the desired outcome was essential. Like programming, it was vital to restrict the daemon's task both in scope and time. It was imperative to be mindful of the dangerous potential of runaway daemons, comparable to runaway programs, albeit with higher stakes.

"I copulated with my fist, my heart came to me into my hand, the semen fell into my mouth."

Creating the daemon's core involved four fundamental steps: need, emotion, will, and courage.

The need was clear: I needed to find Archer. He had been in this place, taken away by a monstrous creature. I needed guidance to track him down and rescue him. Time was a luxury I couldn't afford; any delay could be detrimental to Archer.

The emotional component was raw and complex, a mix of worry and anger. But it wasn't all negative; shared moments with Archer – our coordinated battle stances, the meals he'd prepared, the warmth of our bodies after intimacy – also had a place. These memories and feelings flowed into the emerging daemon.

Will was never an issue. By sheer will, I could shape the universe according to my designs. As a Magus, my willpower was honed to a keen edge.

Fear, on the other hand, was a precursor to failure. Allowing any form of fear at this stage would hand the daemon a license to bring it into reality.

This core would attract the Sixth Imaginary Factor. However, utilizing this core alone would be beyond reckless.

Yes, the daemon would strive to accomplish the stated goals, but its methods could be unconventional. For instance, finding Archer would be far simpler if he were the only entity in the world.

Such a scenario could indeed resemble a paperclip optimizer, highlighting the parallels between programming and demonology. Both computers and daemons lacked what humans refer to as common sense.

Taboos marked the next stage. Post-defining what the daemon should do, I had to clarify what it must not do.

Operating outside the Common Sense of Man, and by extension, the laws of physics, it was essential to define these taboos in minute detail.

Demonology, an ancient form of magecraft, has over time and through countless casualties, formalized these taboos – somewhat akin to computer science libraries. This process rendered the use of daemons slightly safer, but no form of magecraft was ever truly safe – particularly this one.

"My heart offers purpose, my mind grants form. I extend an empty hand, offering nothing but chains. Should you abide by this contract, come forth and be born."

For a moment, silence reigned supreme. Then, as though answering my call, a black butterfly materialized in front of me. It hovered uncertainly before setting off at a slow, rhythmic pace down the desolate street.

There was an eeriness to navigating the overgrown yet oddly intact streets of this deserted city beneath a tumultuous sky, led solely by the black butterfly. I did not know how my daemon managed to track Archer, but I had faith in the magecraft I'd woven.

Strangely, the creation process felt easier than I'd anticipated. Ever since my encounter with death, each act of creation was accompanied by a surge of inspiration. It flowed easily, unhindered, thanks in large part to my drastically improved memory—a skill that remained, even after reclaiming my flesh.

Once Archer was safely found, I planned to question him on whether he'd experienced a similar phenomenon. Whether this newfound ability was due to a superior brain or the simultaneous operation of flesh and spirit was a question best left for later.

A discarded bike at the roadside caught my eye—another eerily perfect representation of normalcy amidst the desolation. It was as though the town's inhabitants had vanished mid-routine. Or was it the town that had disappeared?

The thought made me wonder about the fate of the absent residents. Had they been left to wander a barren landscape, mourning the loss of their homes?

Despite the eerie silence and the constant threat of a silent storm overhead, I realized this deserted town couldn't be a reflection of a real one. No doors creaked open, no signs of life stirred. The silence was absolute, broken only by the echo of our footsteps. The oppressive silence was punctuated by the sight of red lightning snaking across the sky, a storm that made no sound. A storm that failed to quench the dryness below.

Just as I was growing accustomed to the silence, a shriek pierced the stillness.

"Nancy!"

The cry resonated through the desolate streets—a woman's voice, heavy with despair and fear.

I blame Archer's influence for what came next—my body just moved. It wasn't that I consciously considered the pros and cons of discarding the cries to continue my search for my partner.

Rather, I didn't consider it at all.

One moment, I stood garbed in a bright yellow hazardous material suit, the image of a human scientist studying a smartphone. The next, I was transformed into an Elven warrior, radiant in gleaming armor, my sword naked and ready for battle.

Breathing in the unfamiliar air of this strange place, I tasted bitter poison, timeless decay, and insatiable hunger. Elven senses, abstract as they were, provided their own unique perspective.

"Nancy!"

Engaging the reinforcement spell woven into the suit, a surge of raw power pulsed through my limbs—a crude enchantment compared to the spells I was used to. A curse from the feel of it, as expected from Matou magecraft. 

Swift as a gust of wind and light-footed enough to leave no trace, I darted through the deserted streets towards the origin of the cry.

I left Igor and the black butterfly in my wake. The daemon would find me again. It was bound to its task of leading me to Archer.

The source of the desperate pleas was an empty swimming pool. In it, a young woman was locked in a brutal confrontation with a monstrous entity. Resembling an emaciated, stretched-out version of a human, the creature bore blood-soaked claws and was stark naked, its skin as white as chalk.

It corresponds with the creature in the pamphlet, Boaz's silent voice commented, it has vulnerability to fire.

Vaulting into the pool, my Elven blade sliced effortlessly through its pale flesh. The reinforcement spell, however, had exhausted its duration.

The creature moved with a speed that belied its gaunt frame, a clawed hand hurtling towards my face. Barely avoiding the attack, I could feel the near miss as its claw swished past my long hair.

Responding with a screech that resonated through the air, its face bloomed open like a grotesque flower, petals lined with teeth. Guided more by instinct than thought, I summoned a glob of mercury, launching the deadly projectile at it. A drop of blood trickled down from my nose. Again?

Right claw, Arnold's voice echoed in my head. I deflected the incoming claw with my sword. The creature was fast, undoubtedly strong, but not insurmountable.

A few more exchanges made it evident that I could win this prolonged battle without resorting to another spell. However, time wasn't a luxury I could afford. The girl lay wounded and bleeding on the pool floor. Lingering too long here would nullify the very purpose of my detour.

I hadn't arrived to slay monsters. I had come to save her.

Simultaneously parrying the creature with my sword-bearing right hand and pointing with my left, I triggered the second curse. A bolt of black energy shot out, slamming into the gaunt body of the creature.

The impact threw the monster against the opposite wall of the pool. It crumpled into a heap, but its respite was short-lived. It scrambled up the pool's wall, took off, and fled.

I didn't give chase. Instead, with the immediate threat gone, I turned my attention to the injured girl. The sight wasn't encouraging. Her wounds were grievous, with significant blood loss, exposed organs, and visible bones. Life clung to her precariously, but her chances of survival were dwindling rapidly.

I had intended to reserve the third curse for Archer, but leaving her to perish here would make this entire diversion meaningless. So, I knelt beside her, softly placing my hand on her neck, and activated the spell.

Observing the healing curse at work was intriguing. It contrasted significantly with my customary crystal-based healing. It seemed that the thaumaturgical sacrifices primarily came from the patient, which made the spell less costly in terms of materials and energy. The process was more invasive, akin to surgery, imposing its will against the body. But my observation was interrupted by a young voice.

"Is anyone here?"

"Down in the pool!" I responded, looking up to see a young boy peering over the edge. "I hope you're not Nancy. That would be an unfortunate name for a boy."

"No, my name's Will. Will Byers. Nancy is my best friend's older sister. Nancy Wheeler."

Stranger Things, Boaz's silent voice chimed in.

Not Xen then. The Upside Down.

For a fleeting moment, I grappled with the idea. However, upon reflection, it did make sense. Both Portal and Stranger Things portrayed remarkably advanced science, well ahead of their expected timeline, which had become mainstream. Furthermore, both narratives shared elements of alternate dimensions and psychic powers.

If I adhered to the theory that many, if not all, works of fiction in various media were brief glimpses into alternate realities, then it was entirely plausible that two distinct works could simply be disparate viewpoints of a single timeline in one world.

"Is she here too? This place is not safe."

I was aware that wasn't the case, but I needed to ask. Not only to maintain my cover but also to verify the accuracy of my knowledge.

"I don't know."

"Well, this one was calling for her. Do you recognize her?"

"That's Barbara Holland. She's a friend of Nancy's. Is she okay?"

"She was severely injured, but she's no longer in immediate danger. However, I don't think she'll wake up anytime soon."

"Are you a doctor?"

I drew nearer and used my mystic code to quickly assess Will.

"Yes, but not in the medical sense. How rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Doctor Alexander Johnson. However, I am trained in first aid. I work with dangerous equipment and accidents happen." As I compared the readings between Barbara and Will, I noticed something intriguing. "Interesting."

Barbara's fundamental elemental alignment was roughly typical of humans. But Will's alignment deviated toward the environment.

"What?"

"You've been here for a while, but she just arrived. We can only hope she left Nancy behind, back on Earth."

"Back on Earth? Are we on an alien planet? But here's the entire town. And my house?"

"Not a planet. It's far too small to be a planet. Let me explain it to you. If you don't understand, ask me to clarify." He nodded. "Imagine a sheet of paper. Draw a circle on one side, and a square on the other. Are you following?" He nodded again. "Now, those two shapes are very close, yet distinctly separate. We, and the real town of..."

"Hawkins."

"Are like that. Close but on different sides of the paper. Do you understand?"

"Kinda... sorta get it?"

Will's response was noncommittal, tinged with confusion.

"Alright, let me put it this way. You're into fantasy, right? Books, games?"

"I do play Dungeons and Dragons," Will replied, still sounding perplexed.

"That's perfect. So, you know in DnD there's a prime material plane, and other planes like the ethereal or astral."

"Yeah, I know that."

"Well, this place... it's something like the Ethereal Plane. Close enough to the real world for things to reach out, attack people, maybe even pull them over." I paused, wondering whether ethereal ooze was in the first edition. "Think ghosts."

"But ghosts don't pull people to the Ethereal Plane," Will interjected, then continued, "But I think I get what you're trying to say. Why does this place look just like home, though?"

"It's like a static reflection of a single moment in time."

"Like a photo."

"Exactly, like a photo," I said, appreciating his quick understanding.

My mind briefly wandered to the knowledge I had about this world. Jonathan Byers, Will's brother, had a knack for photography. The kid probably saw his fair share of photographs.

"My brother is..." he started, probably about to bring up Jonathan's affinity for photography, but his sentence got cut off abruptly. He tensed, his attention snapped to somewhere beyond our immediate vicinity. "I hear something! I'm going to take a look!"

"No, stay here!" I bellowed, the annoyance audible in my voice, "It might be another creature!"

Caught between two choices, I struggled to decide. Should I leave the injured girl to go after Will or should I stay and risk him encountering another monster?

Before I could resolve my inner conflict, Will's voice pierced through the silence, "It's not a creature. It's a robot!"

"That's Igor, Will! He's a friend!" I called out, a wave of relief washing over me. "Igor, we have an injured girl at the bottom of the pool. We need to extract her."

In no time, the pool was flooded with a moon-white gel. A new portal materialized and Igor leaped out, wielding a portal gun.

"There," I directed him, my finger pointing at Barbara.

Igor used the portal gun to elevate her. The gun had impressive lifting capacity and was ideal for transporting fragile items - we had performed countless tests using weighted storage cubes.

After securing Barbara, Igor disappeared back through the portal. Without wasting another moment, I sprinted towards the portal and took a flying leap into it, emerging on the other side in the middle of the street.

With practiced ease, I flipped in mid-air, landing with a perfect backflip on the asphalt.

"How?" Will's voice was tinged with astonishment.

"Think of it like a Dimension Door spell, just with science instead of magic," I explained. Down the street, I spotted the black butterfly once again. It hovered patiently, as if waiting for us. "We need to follow that butterfly."

"A butterfly? That's the first I've seen here."

"That makes it worth investigating."

And so, we formed an odd procession down the street: a man in a yellow hazard suit, a young boy, and a robot carrying an unconscious woman, all trailing after a lone black butterfly.

To distract Will and ease his nerves, I encouraged him to recount his Dungeons and Dragons campaign. I offered the occasional comment or question, prompted by Leo, but for the most part, I let him do the talking. It seemed to work. Will became noticeably calmer and seemed to trust me more, a crucial factor in this precarious situation. Immediate compliance could make all the difference if danger reared its head.

"My fireball missed. I rolled a seven, and now Will the Wise is in serious trouble."

"Every challenge has a solution, though it often comes at a cost. Picture this scenario: as the claws of the Demogorgon pierce the wizard's frail form, darkness descends. But death need not be the end. Imagine the wizard waking up to the sight of a handsome gentleman, clad in a rich yet elegant robe, a pure ruby rod in his hand. He proposes a deal, a contract that could bring the wizard back to life. In return, the wizard must give something seemingly trivial. It would make for an intriguing twist in your campaign."

"That sounds awesome! But is it within the game's rules?"

"Absolutely. If your friend Mike has the right book, he'll see it's all by the book. And remember, rules should serve the story, not the other way around." I recalled the fully stocked room for playing Dungeons and Dragons in the Otherworld, as well as the Aperture Science Data Collection and Human Suffering Enablement Chamber, whose purpose I was somewhat hesitant to explore. "And if he doesn't have the book, just let me know. You can borrow mine."

I needed to be careful not to give any books that have yet to be published. Cid had told me that I had a complete collection up to the fifth edition. I haven't had the chance to check, though.

"You have Dungeon and Dragons books?" Will sounded incredulous. "I didn't know adults could play?"

"Of course, we can," I reassured him, "we just don't usually admit it." I quickly added an explanation, not wanting to come across as too odd. "Actually, I use tabletop role-playing games in my work. They're great tools for helping artificial intelligence develop behavioral, social, and language skills."

That sounds promising, Leo commented quietly. Such a method could indeed work.

He was right. This could really help the minor eccentric cores we'd been producing. It might even help turn GLaDOS into a productive member of society.

"Robots playing Dungeon and Dragons! Dustin would never believe me!"

Suddenly, I felt it: the overwhelming pressure of the dragon's potent Od. We had found him, and he was still alive.

I raised my hand and instructed, "Shh." I strained my ears, listening intently. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, I briefly enhanced my hearing ability, but still, there was nothing. "What's this building, Will?"

"Public library. Why?"

"I think we've found what we've been looking for. Stay by my side, be quiet, and if I tell you to do something, do it immediately. You can ask questions later."

"Is it dangerous? Should I wait outside?"

"Possibly," I admitted. "But you'd be safer where I can see you. I don't know if there are other monsters here. If it's a lone predator, it might be territorial. But there's also a chance it could be part of a pack. Can you be brave?"

"I'm scared," Will confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That's alright, Will. True bravery only shows when we're scared. Can you try?"

"I'll try."

"Good. Follow me. Both of you."

We ventured into the dark unknown, the black butterfly leading us towards the heart of the building. The silence around us was thick, and a feeling of unease began to creep up on me. As we entered a large room, a chilling sight revealed itself.

Archer was here, but not as I remembered him. His form was different now - that of Dwight, a former colleague of mine. I remembered Dwight as the very image of an Aryan ideal - blond hair, blue eyes, strong, and muscled. The man restrained before us now was unmistakably him, but the scene was a grotesque perversion of his proud figure.

His body was exposed and ensnared by sinuous vines that left nothing to the imagination. One large vine pushed its way into his mouth, disappearing down his throat. His body, once strong and firm, was now soft and pliable under the violation of the vines.

Our guide, the black butterfly, landed softly on his forehead, providing an eerie juxtaposition to the explicit scene before us.

Recognition and a strange heat rushed through me. It was the shock of seeing Dwight, and knowing it Acher, in such a debased state. Unlike what happened with Fano; Dwight and Ace were not close, but knew each other well enough to be on a first-name basis. And now, it seemed, we were going to get to know each other on an entirely different level.

I had to act fast. The urgency of the situation was now more apparent than ever.

I rushed towards him, the sound of my heartbeat echoing loudly in my ears.

With a forceful yank, I pulled the invasive vine from his mouth. I should have been gentler, but I couldn't bear to see it violating him any longer.

"This time I saved you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady for his sake. I squeezed the vine in my hand until it crumbled to dust. My hands were still trembling. "I guess I can see some appeal."

He coughed, a thin line of drool trickling down his chin. "Tempted to become an Ally of Justice?"

"No. I have always been villain material." This was a proper wasteland to erect a tall tower and begin exploiting everything in sight. Let's see how the locals liked being violated.

The vines gave way easily. It didn't take long to free him completely. Now no longer paralyzed, Archer began helping himself, with assistance from Will and Igor.

"You shouldn't be this angry. This was only just," he whispered.

I knew what he meant. Charles and Dean. And what we did to them. Not enemies, just people caught in the crossfire.

Still, that did nothing to calm my raging anger. Worlds that lived by such a warped sense of justice deserved to burn.

Taking a few slow, steady breaths, I managed to ask him in a controlled tone, "Can you walk?"

"With some help," he rasped. He needed medical attention soon. Why had I wasted the healing spell on the girl?

"Good. Then we are done here. Igor, open the portal to the extraction point."

Igor worked diligently, applying Conversion Gel to the library wall. Amidst the eerie silence, Will's voice wavered, "You know the way out. Why didn't you take us home right away?"

A growl threatened to surface, but I reined it in, substituting it with a calm response. "Because there was another life at stake." I gestured towards Archer, struggling to stand, and began assisting him towards the portal. "Let's move, both of you. Igor, make sure you bring Barbara."

However, amidst the chaos, I neglected an important task. My wrath clouded my judgment, and I made an unwise decision.

I failed to dismiss the daemon.

Let this forsaken town descend into a hellscape. What should I care? There was nothing here but rot and monsters.