A Demonic Spot beneath Blue Skies

chapter 3

I

No, you can’t do this!” Meg cried frantically. Her body trembled fiercely, and her eyes were hot and wet. She couldn’t let herself cry, though. “This is just a fish! There’s no saying it’s necessarily the same as a Noble. If by some chance it just happens to be a regular fish, you’ll be a murderer, with your own kind chasing you down for the rest of your days!”

“That still sounds better than hanging around with someone who might be a Noble. Lower your gun.”

“No way. Lower yours first. Please, let’s talk this out.”

“You think you can get a shot off quicker than me?” Cowboy asked, seeming to mock the girl with the question. “Your slug wouldn’t reach me till I’d killed you both three times over!”

“You’re probably right.”

“Yet you’re still willing to do this?”

“I don’t care how dangerous it is,” Meg said. “I can’t let you shoot someone on a fifty-fifty chance. And I won’t let you become a murderer.”

The killing lust that colored Cowboy from head to toe wavered suddenly.

“You have guts,” he said, casually turning his rifle toward the ground.

“Swear you won’t use it again?” Meg said to him, the handgun still trained on the bounty hunter.

“Yeah, so long as he’s still himself. But if I see the slightest hint of him turning into a Noble, I’ll shoot him dead without a word.”

“Fair enough,” Wesley said with a nod. Meg looked stricken, but the young man gave her a nod too. “If I start acting funny, plug away. That’s an official request.”

“Sure thing,” Cowboy replied.

Meg lowered the pistol.

Gently taking the weapon from the girl, Wesley said, “It’s okay, Meg. I’m gonna get rid of this bugger now.”

And saying that, he turned the barrel of his gun toward the parasite on his shoulder. Once he was sure no one else was in the line of fire, he prepared to pull the trigger.

There was a dull thud against the lawman’s temple, and he was knocked unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Meg cried, the corners of her eyes rising angrily.

Pointing to the gunstock he’d hit Wesley with, Cowboy told her, “It’s got a rubber pad on it. All he got was a slight concussion out of that. But just try firing off a shot now. Weird stuff would be all over us in a second!”

Meg had to admit he was right. This place was home to Nobles and their servants. Humans were no more than prey for them.

“We’ll set out once he comes to. Take a minute to cool down, why don’t you.”

And saying that, Cowboy tossed Meg something he’d had tucked in the back of his gun belt. It was a little spray can.

“That’s a cooling mist. Works as a painkiller, too. I’ve used all kinds, but this stuff’s the best.”

“You’re not all bad, are you?”

Cowboy looked all around them, and once Meg had finished applying the spray he said to the groaning Wesley, “Okay, on your feet, Deputy. Your dad left you some mighty big boots to fill.”

Letting out a sharp breath, Cowboy fell to his knees. On the other hand, Wesley stood up. The lawman lightly nudged the tough with the same foot he’d driven into the man’s solar plexus.

“He’ll be able to walk soon enough. Let’s hurry up through the forest,” the lawman said, clapping Meg on the shoulder.

Seems pretty dependable, Meg thought, and she felt her chest growing warm. It was the same comforting sensation she’d felt so long ago getting a hug from her father when he came back from fishing.

In about ten minutes’ time they were through the forest. There were signs of things rustling about in the distance, but nothing came after the trio.

On exiting the forest, Meg scanned their surroundings apprehensively and said, “The others probably took a different route, but I wonder if they made it through okay.”

She was referring to the rest of the bounty hunters.

“Forget about those bastards,” Wesley spat. “More importantly—I’m gonna shoot this fish. You got a problem with that?”

“Do what you like,” Cowboy replied, sounding somewhat amused. He didn’t seem to hold a grudge over the kick in the gut the lawman had given him. Actually, he seemed quite curious to see whether the Nobles’ fish could be destroyed.

“Still,” the bounty hunter continued, “a big bang could cause trouble for us. Wrap some cloth around your gun. Hey, you’d better be quick about this. You’re looking mighty sickly!”

Meg handed the lawman a towel she had tucked through her belt. Wesley wrapped the whole gun in it, doubling up on the fabric around the cylinder. His weapon was a revolver, with a cylinder that turned every time a bullet was fired. But that meant there had to be a gap between the cylinder and the frame. If there wasn’t, the cylinder couldn’t turn. When the weapon was discharged, the sound of the gunshot could also escape through that gap. Just wrapping the barrel wouldn’t be enough to muffle the sound.

“Here we go,” Wesley said, taking aim and pulling the trigger.

There was a muffled report, and the fish’s body was blown clean off.

“What the—?!” Wesley shouted.

“Persistent little sucker,” Meg groaned.

The head of the fish still had its teeth deep in Wesley’s shoulder. A threadlike stream of blood dribbled from the creature’s pulverized portion to seep into the ground.

“Nothing left but its head . . . and it’s still feeding on him!” the girl exclaimed.

Saying nothing, Wesley cocked the hammer for a second shot. Since his target was even smaller now, he took careful aim—and the second bullet hit the fish’s head, blasting it to bits.

“That time did it!” Meg exclaimed, pumping her fist in spite of herself.

“Nope, not yet,” Cowboy countered with a shake of his head.

“What?”

“See for yourself.”

Even Wesley himself looked where the bounty hunter was pointing. There was no fish there anymore. However, a pair of white teeth remained. And to all appearances those teeth made sounds that suggested pleasure as they continued their weird work, sinking even deeper into the flesh of Wesley’s gore-stained shoulder and wringing out more of his lifeblood.

Wesley grabbed the teeth by the roots and pulled, but they didn’t budge and he soon relented.

“They’re curved like hooks, and sunk in there real good. No chance of getting them out without an operation. Luckily, the bleeding’s not so bad. We’ll keep going like this.”

“With things like that flying around, I’m surprised all of us were okay.”

“All of us?” Wesley gave Meg a glare that made her hastily button her lip.

“Okay, now the question is where to go next—got any good ideas, Sheriff?”

“Knock it off. I’m a deputy,” Wesley said, tying the towel around his shoulder.

But Cowboy replied, “No, you’re not.”

“Huh?”

“You stopped being a deputy the moment the sheriff died. Naturally, you’ve got to take on the sheriff’s responsibilities. Rise to the occasion, okay? From here on out, we’re gonna treat you like a sheriff. Isn’t that right, missy?”

“It’s Meg.”

“Meg,” Cowboy said.

“I agree. That’s what I’m gonna do. You hang in there, Wesley,” she said, clinging to his arm with a look of sincerity on her face, causing the young lawman’s expression to stiffen.

It took Wesley a whole second to work up a smile. In his present state, that undoubtedly seemed like an eternity. He lightly slapped his own cheeks a few times in succession. Then he took a deep breath and exhaled. As he gazed at the other two, he looked a little tougher than before.

“Then as sheriff, let me give you an order. From here on out, you’re to do whatever I tell you. I won’t stand for any back talk. We clear on that?”

“Yes, sir!” Meg replied, raising her right hand and elbowing Cowboy. He said nothing, but raised his right hand too.

“Good enough. Let’s go, then.”

Wesley turned his back to the two of them.

A mountain loomed before them. In its side there yawned a black maw five yards wide. It was a stony tunnel. From the skill with which the rock had been cut and fit together, it was clear it hadn’t been the work of human hands. This was undoubtedly a Noble project. A road, also paved in cut stone, connected to the path the trio had taken through the forest, as well as running up either side of the mountain.

“I don’t get it,” Meg said, cocking her head to one side as her rubber boots became accustomed to the road.

“Don’t get what?” Wesley inquired.

“Why the Nobility do the things they do. They could fly the skies with ease, yet the harbor was filled with boats for crossing the very seas that give ’em so much trouble. There are even vessels that go underwater. And then there’s this road and the tunnel. Even after putting a perfectly good road plumb through the middle of the mountain, they still threw in those alternate routes.”

“It’s a phenomenon called ‘Noble Wastefulness,’” said Cowboy.

“I think I’ve heard of that. What is it?”

“It seems they have this tech called ‘tele-something-or-other’ that could break a person down to itty-bitty pieces and send ’em to the moon in a split second. Still, they say about five thousand years ago the Nobility constructed a pathway from this one spot on Earth up to the moon.”

Cowboy closed his mouth. This was due to the fact that Meg and Wesley had both let theirs drop open. He waited a little while, but as their mouths remained open, he continued in a rough tone, “It ain’t around now, though. See, the aliens wrecked it during the OSB wars. Still, it’s called a perfect example of the whole ‘Noble Wastefulness’ phenomenon.”

“That certainly is a waste,” Meg acknowledged with a nod. When she glanced up at him again, with a look of sudden discovery she said, “Now that you mention it, this old poet who came to our village a long time ago said something. According to him, the Nobility lived for their destruction. Or is that not the same thing? It’s just, that’s what came to me right now.”

“Well, if it were just a matter of squandering resources they’d have noticed at some point and put a stop to it. This was intentional wastefulness which would probably lead to their destruction. They loved their roads and carriages even though they could fly through the skies, and I don’t think that was just due to their tendency for nostalgia. Somewhere deep down, the Nobility probably had some dark impulse they didn’t even know about.”

Meg nodded. A strange sense of solidarity enveloped the two of them.

“At any rate, let’s get moving. No dawdling, you two!” Wesley shouted somewhat irritably, having already started walking toward the tunnel. Perhaps he could sense something.

II

It was Wesley who remarked, “This is odd.”

Having thought the same thing for a while now, Meg nodded agreement in her heart of hearts.

Though they’d been walking for a good three hours, there was no sign of the exit. Worse yet, it didn’t really feel like they’d been walking—or rather, that they’d gained any ground. It almost felt as if they were walking on a treadmill moving in the opposite direction at exactly the same speed. When they turned around, however, the entrance they’d used had long since vanished. Still, they managed to continue walking because the walls, which seemed to be made of ordinary stone, gave off a pale blue glow.

Could it be we’ll be stuck in this tunnel forever?

No sooner had that foolish worry sprouted in Meg’s mind than Wesley exclaimed, “Let’s take a rest,” and crumpled to the floor.

“Not looking too sharp there, Sheriff,” Cowboy told the huffing and puffing young man in a judgmental tone. “But then, there just seems to be no freaking end to this. It’s draining, both physically and mentally.”

On seeing the way the bounty hunter propped his left hand against the wall, Meg grew twice as anxious. If that was the state the two men were in, all she could do was keep on plugging.

“I don’t know anything about the interior of the island, but I have heard how large it’s supposed to be,” the girl said. “The rough estimate is about forty-two square miles. Think of a circle less than seven and a half miles in diameter. If we were going at a rate of two and a half miles per hour, hell, we should already be off the island by this point!”

“Maybe it runs clean to the far end of the island,” Wesley said, looking up at Meg. Though his voice was steady, it was immediately clear he was pushing himself. It was on account of those teeth. The towel around his shoulder was stained deep red. And even now the little monster that no longer had a brain or a heart was drinking his blood in accordance with the will of the Nobility.

“The island’s mostly flat,” Meg countered. “The only mountains on it are on the southern coast. I doubt this tunnel is even six miles long.”

“But it’s not like we can turn back at this point. We got no choice but to push on.”

Meg nodded. It was a moot discussion. Indeed, they had no choice but to keep going.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m good,” Wesley said, getting to his feet.

“It’s rough not having anything to eat or drink, though. We’ve gotta get out of here, and soon.”

Cowboy’s casual remark once again ignited Meg’s fears. We’ve gotta get out of here. But what if we can’t? We’ll end up starving to death in this tunnel.

As if to banish her fears, Meg started to walk point for the party.

“What in the—?!” she exclaimed, halting after she’d gone about ten paces.

Up ahead there lay what looked to be a human figure.

“Who is it?”

“Lancer,” Cowboy replied, his rifle over his shoulder.

Meg strained her eyes. His short spear lay atop his stomach. She finally realized where the bounty hunter had gotten his name. The girl was about to step forward when Cowboy stopped her by saying, “Lancer, can you hear me?”

There was no response. He asked again, and then a third time—all to the same result.

“All right, then.”

A roar echoed down the tunnel. Sparks leapt right by Lancer’s head.

Amid the echoes, the face that’d been pointed toward the ceiling slowly turned in the trio’s direction. It was indeed the short-spear specialist.

“Recognize me, Lancer? It’s me, Cowboy.”

The man’s elongated face nodded.

“You bastards ran off on us. I don’t know what happened in here, but it seems like you’ve really been through the wringer. Serves you right, too!”

Lancer raised his right hand and beckoned to the other man. He then pointed to his throat, and opened and closed his mouth repeatedly. He couldn’t speak.

The other three exchanged looks. Could he be trusted? They were dealing with the Nobility here, so there was no telling what might’ve happened to Lancer.

“Let’s go. And keep your gun on him just like you’ve got it now.”

And saying that, Wesley stepped forward.

When he was within fifteen feet, Wesley halted and asked, “Can you talk?”

“After a fashion,” came the reply in the wasted tone of a centenarian.

“What happened?”

“We went through the forest while you folks were gone and ended up here. Then it was into the tunnel. But no matter how far we walked, we couldn’t see the exit. That asshole Bo got pissed off and said he was gonna turn back. So we told him to do whatever the hell he liked, he took off on his own, and the rest of us kept going. And then—”

Meg let out a small cry.

Something white drifted up ahead.

“—the fog rolled in,” Lancer murmured faintly.

“Watch yourselves. Either keep within arm’s reach of one another, or call out to keep track of everyone’s location. Stick together,” said Cowboy.

Meg braced the harpoon in her right hand for action, and used her left to hold onto Wesley’s arm.

Their surroundings were bleached white.

“We started walking through the fog,” Lancer continued in a tone that sounded gloomy.

Swirling white mist swallowed his form, then the trio.

Meg listened intently. She had great confidence in her hearing. When waiting for her prey on calm seas, she had to be able to hear the sound of a fin breaking the surface or catch the splash of a leaping fish. She’d hear a pebble fall if it were within fifty yards of her.

“And after we’d walked plenty, from up ahead . . .”

Sound vibrated against her eardrums. Not just one. Countless little sounds—footfalls.

“. . . they closed on us. Many, so many . . . Closing on us fast . . . So fast, you’d think they’d been waiting for us . . .”

Lancer must’ve still been there. And he continued speaking.

“There’s a ton of ’em coming!”

By the time Meg’s words reached her two companions, so had the sound of the footsteps.

Wesley drew his gun and shouted into the depths of the white fog, “Halt! I’m a sheriff. Halt, or I’ll shoot!”

The footsteps didn’t stop. To the contrary—they broke into a run!

“Here they come!”

“Run for it!” Wesley exclaimed, turning around. Grabbing Meg’s left hand, he dashed forward. He could sense Cowboy right beside them and hear his footfalls.

“We ended up getting separated,” Lancer continued. He just went on and on. “I fought them, and stabbed a few to death. And then I dropped. Not that I was wounded. Out of hunger.”

Meg suddenly noticed something. Where was Lancer’s voice coming from? Right by her ear. It couldn’t be that he was following her, could it?

Suddenly, there was a great weight on the girl’s back. A hoarse voice whispered in her ear, “I’m hungry. Give me something. Some hot blood!”

Her whole body trembled. “Nooo!” Meg screamed, but cold breath fell on the nape of her neck.

Next—a gunshot rang out. The weight on Meg’s back jerked hard to the right, then vanished.

“You okay?!”

The smell of gunpowder came from the same direction as Wesley’s voice.

“I’m fine—but Lancer’s become one of the Nobility.”

“I know. The fog broke for a second, and I saw his face. He was sporting fangs.”

“I sure am,” Lancer said, his voice falling down at them from overhead.

Meg’s ears alone caught the sound of something knifing through the air. Not that she realized it was a spear. The horizontal slash she made with her harpoon was purely out of reflex. The clang of them coming together was rather light, but there was the sound of something heavy hitting the road not far off.

“Take that!” the girl exclaimed, thrusting out with the harpoon with all her might. Even before she heard the cry of pain she felt it make contact. And she heard the sound of someone falling after she’d run another fifteen or twenty feet.

The footsteps were still following them.

They must’ve run at least a hundred yards already. Suddenly Meg’s feet tangled. Staggering, she let go of Wesley’s arm.

“Wesley!”

“Over here,” a voice called off to her right. The way it seemed a hundred yards off made Meg’s hair stand on end.

It was a second later that the voice became a scream. The unmistakable sound of a body being pierced had come from Wesley’s position. There was a beastly cry from the lawman as the sound of his footfalls grew chaotic. The thud of his fall echoed, and the sight of the end of the spear that was stuck in him somewhere skimmed briefly across the girl’s retinas.

“Wesley, where are you?!” Meg cried, but the very instant she started to her right she was enveloped by a bluish darkness.

It must’ve been evening. Meg was standing in a forest—though the distance between the trees was so great, it might’ve been more accurate to call it some woods.

Meg looked up. The moon was out.

“How in the world? What am I doing out here? And Wesley . . . ?”

She turned around, but there was just more of the woods. Both the tunnel and Wesley had vanished completely. No, there could be no doubt they were even now locked in deadly battle back in that world of white mist. It was Meg who’d vanished.

“That short spear . . . He was more than a hundred yards away . . . So, that’s Lancer’s power, is it?”

There was no one there to answer her. The world continued to shout at Meg, You’re on your own. Try to make it through alone.

III

“Dad, what do I do?”

Meg thought back on her father. The same father who’d taught her all she needed to know about life on the seas. His lessons had to apply to more than just out on the water.

Make sure you’re safe. This was the first thing that flashed into her head. Once you know you’re safe, then don’t think about anything. Not hope, not despair. Forget everything. If you can’t do that, you might as well give up. Then, calm down. Next—

She didn’t know whether she was safe or not. However, she didn’t seem to be in danger. With that assessment, Meg lay down on the grass. She had a good view of the moon. The wind swept by at a soothing pace.

Smells nice, the girl thought.

Somewhere, the breeze had brushed through flowers in bloom.

Suddenly she felt at ease. There was no point screaming or crying about it. If she wanted to live, she’d have to go it alone.

I’m not giving up, Dad, she thought. But I’m gonna rest now. I’m tired.

Meg closed her eyes. She quickly fell asleep.

The girl opened her eyes. Fatigue still lay in the marrow of her bones, but she felt better than earlier. The moon glowed more intensely, and the darkness was deeper.

“A little over an hour, I guess,” she said, referring to how long she’d been asleep.

When you were out at sea, you had to read your environment to know how much time had passed. If you couldn’t read the sky due to inclement weather, you had only your five senses to rely on. Meg had been going out fishing with the boys since she was little, and her father had drilled the importance of that internal clock into the girl.

“Okay, next.”

Her right hand naturally came to rest on her abdomen. She was terribly hungry. And thirsty as well.

“You have to get to where there are other people. That’s the ticket.”

Her eyes grew sharp. The girl realized she might dine on the sorts of monstrous creatures she was likely to encounter in her travels.

“Toward that end . . .”

Her determined face swept all around her.

Meg went over to one tree and snapped off its lowest branch. Panting for breath, she grunted, “Not exactly easy on an empty stomach!”

Drawing the knife tucked through her belt, she began to whittle a point at the end of the three-foot branch. The blade was as sharp as always. It was a first-class knife purchased from an itinerant merchant out of the Capital. Her father had always said, Use only the best for the things your life depends on, even if it means you’ve gotta sell your house to get ’em.

For half an hour she worked out in the moonlight. Easy to grip and easy to throw—when it came to the tools of her trade, Meg didn’t cut any corners.

In no time, she exclaimed, “Yes!” and pumped a fist at the moon as if in challenge, but she brought it back down again immediately.

Clutching three handcrafted wooden harpoons, Meg slumped to the ground. Her stomach rumbled feebly.

“Oh hell. I’m so hungry!”

She was just thinking how pathetic she sounded when the grass in front of her swayed. It was a sign something was approaching.

“Already?”

She hadn’t expected to put her harpoons to use so quickly, but no sooner had she hauled back with her right hand to hurl one than a figure stepped from the darkness.

“Meg,” a voice called to her—and the girl jumped to her feet.

“Toma?! Is that you?!” she cried out, surprise and joy churning in her heart. She lowered her harpoon.

Somewhere in her mind, a voice told her to wait.

“Meg.”

The figure was now close enough that she could clearly make out his face. There was no mistaking him. It was Toma. Meg’s boyfriend. The nineteen-year-old boy who swore he’d live his whole life in that village.

“Great. I’m so happy you’re okay. Say, Toma, where’s everybody else?”

“They’re safe,” Toma replied in his usual, somewhat rapid, tone. “Some of them escaped, and they’re with me.”

“Does that include my family?”

“No, your folks didn’t get away. Your mom was in such a state of shock she couldn’t stand. Bass is taking care of her.”

“Where are they?!”

“Inside one of the Nobility’s facilities.”

“And just where is that?”

“By the northern cape.”

“I see. And the rest of your group?”

“They’re hiding nearby. Come with me.”

“Okay,” Meg replied, and she was just about to head over to her boyfriend when she suddenly halted. Furrowing her brow, she asked Toma, “Tell me, just how did you know I was out here?”

For the briefest of moments Toma had a scary look, but he soon broke into a grin.

“Oh, that’s right. Good question. See, I wasn’t actually out looking for you. Old Kapsch and Hadira were bellyaching about how hungry they were. I thought maybe I’d find some night hares or something.”

Hadira was the far-from-old Kapsch’s third son. It was little wonder a three-year-old would complain about an empty belly.

“I see. Sorry.”

Meg made a move to throw her arms around Toma, but he pushed her back.

“Let’s save the hugging and kissing till I know for sure we’re safe.”

“What, are you mad at me?”

“Nope. It’s just with everyone else to worry about, I’m not really in the mood for that stuff.”

Meg recalled how the strapping young man was the very picture of consideration. With only thin planks between them and hell, fishermen had rough dispositions. They had to be hard, or they couldn’t do the job. And while they recognized that Toma was as rough as any of them, the way he listened so attentively to the pearls of wisdom from an old minstrel who drifted into town, and his kindness in not only paying the man too generously for his services but also giving him some medicine because he was old had touched Meg’s heart.

“I guess you’re right,” the girl conceded. “Lead the way.”

As they headed west through the woods, Meg told Toma all about what’d happened up to that point.

“I wonder why I was the only one who suddenly went from being in the tunnel to out here?” she said.

“This island’s kinda funny. Sometimes you mean to go right and end up turning left. It’s like space is all twisted around. Like, you walk due north, but you wind up in the south.”

“That bites. I wonder if Wesley and the bounty hunter are still in the tunnel? Or did they wind up somewhere else, like me?”

“Who knows,” Toma replied, heaving a sigh.

After about thirty minutes, they came to a rough, rocky place. There was the sound of waves nearby. The sea must’ve been right ahead of them.

A number of figures appeared from behind the grotesquely shaped rocks. Each and every face was one Meg recognized.

“Mr. Kemp. And Miss Hardy.”

They were all villagers she’d watched walk off across the foggy bay.

“So, you’re all okay. That’s great!”

Perhaps they knew Meg’s cry of joy came from the bottom of her heart, because everyone in the group smiled in unison.

Meg stopped in her tracks. She’d just caught a glimpse of something. The thought it might’ve been those made everyone’s smiles vanish.

“What’s the matter?” Toma asked from behind her.

Meg shook her head wildly. Gripping a harpoon, she said, “Toma, let’s get out of here.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. Say goodbye to everybody.”

“But why?” he asked, a stunned look in his eyes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, I get it. Is it these?” Miriam Hardy said with a smile, pointing to the corners of her lips.

The pair of fangs didn’t suit the lovely widow. Nor did they look good on Mr. Kemp. Or on his family, who stepped out behind him. The moonlight seemed to focus solely on their fangs.

“They got all of you, didn’t they?” Meg said, tears spilling from her eyes.

“It happened before we even knew it, and we couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Meg,” she heard Toma’s voice say from behind her, and he sounded at a loss.

His position became clear. As she turned around, Meg raised her wooden harpoon and let it fly.

Toma stared in astonishment at the long, long stake that’d gone clean through his back. His expression seemed to say he didn’t understand what’d happened.

“You always were pretty perverted, you know that?” Meg said, making no motion to wipe at her streaming tears. “Every time you saw me, you’d always kiss me, try to touch me. But now, you didn’t try to lay a finger on me. I thought that was odd. And another thing—you said you were out hunting hares, but you didn’t have any gear for the job.”

“If I’d let you touch me, you’d have known what happened to me . . . My body’s as cold as ice.”

Staggering to and fro, Toma opened his mouth and spat out a stream of blood, revealing a pair of gory fangs.

“But . . . it’s not like we wanted . . . to be like this . . . I’m sorry . . . Meg!”

“Who was it? Who did this to you?”

“A pale woman . . . and an old man dressed like a servant. They said . . . we’d be . . . test subjects.”

“Test subjects? For what kind of experiments?”

“I don’t know . . . It’s just . . . the people who were here before . . . made human and Noble . . .”

With a pop, Toma’s head flew into the air.

Eddying blood splattered at Meg’s feet, and she backed away shrieking. Behind her, she heard a succession of pops. All the girl could do was watch as the heads of one villager after another shot into the air. Every last one of them fell back to earth with a stream of blood trailing after it. A little head rolled to Meg’s feet, its face looking up at her reproachfully. The head of Kemp’s son. He was only six, as she recalled.

“What the hell?! Who did that?”

Meg’s body quaked. Whether it was from anger or grief she didn’t know. She felt terribly cold.

The moonlight dimmed. It wasn’t that a cloud had moved across it. Another shadow had fallen on Meg.

What the girl saw was a man in black armor floating in midair with his back to the moon. The four cylinders around his body seemed part of some device that gave him the power to disregard gravity.

“As expected, our impromptu puppets didn’t work out too well. We were more concerned about someone else and had to leave this to the puppets, and that’s where we went wrong,” the man said, his voice falling from a height of about ten feet. “Lord Danae says the more test subjects the better, and I had intended to bring you back to the lab, but it seems such a bother. I shall dispose of you here.”

Within a helmet that seemed to be steel burned crimson eyes that made Meg’s blood run cold.

Something cold touched her neck. Squeezing tight, it pressed into her flesh.

The girl thought, That’s what made their heads fly off.

Oddly enough, she was neither scared nor in pain. The moon alone was burned starkly into her retinas.

Off in the distance, a voice rang out. She didn’t realize it was a cry of surprise until after the world turned upside down.

Meg fell to her knees on the rocky ground and stared at the pair of figures squaring off some fifteen to twenty feet ahead of her. The armored knight came down a bit to just over six feet off the ground, where he gazed in amazement at a figure in black raiment standing on the rocks.

“When the island came back to life, the first thing we did was to send out the fog. That bit of white deviltry renders all in the world blind and powerless as it drains them of both life and will. However, now there is a wind from across the waves that could scatter it.”

The knight’s right hand slowly but with overpowering awe took aim at the figure in black.

“It gusts from you.”

The figure didn’t move. The collar of his black coat and the brim of his traveler’s hat hid his profile from Meg’s eyes. And the incredible eldritch aura blustering from the area surrounding the pair chilled Meg to the marrow of her bones. And yet, the girl’s heart beat faster and her ears could hear the sound of her hot blood racing. Within it, a voice wept with uncontrollable joy, It’s him. The gorgeous man I saw back at the cape.

“I am Baron Gildea, the chief of security for this experimental island. I would have the name of the man who menaces our very fog.”

The reply was succinct.

“D.”