Logically speaking, he knew why this was happening. But it was hard not to think that the whole world was against him right now.
Since naturally formed liminal spaces were formed by lingering negative energy, it was only natural that they sustained themselves by drawing on similar energy. Hilda was a seventeen-year-old who had not experienced many of life’s struggles yet. Duncan was five hundred and sixty-one years old and had spent centuries in various wars.
Between the two of them, it was obvious who harboured more negative energy. And in this case, the liminal space clearly drew on Duncan’s unpleasant past experiences to evoke more negative emotions. It didn’t help that he messed up the countdown earlier, either.
Meanwhile, Bertram Harvey’s announcements had faded into an echoey smear by now, sounding like they were somehow coming from even farther away.
Duncan walked along the platform, magic at the ready. There was an odd, lingering smell in the air, which brought back the unpleasant memories of choking on mustard gas twenty-eight years ago. Still, that was not the part that repulsed him most.
It was the unmistakable smell of blood mixed within it.
He looked at the empty train that had apparently pulled into the station when his eyes were shut earlier. It was sitting patiently on the railway with its doors open, as though waiting for the man to board it.
That’s not good.
Although there was no one on board the train, he wasn’t about to get on. Curious as he was about where it would take him, Duncan wasn’t stupid enough to risk getting himself even more lost in this hellhole. The priority would be to get back to Hilda and—
A gunshot cracked in the air without warning.
Duncan flinched and instinctively ducked behind a platform wall. His hand shot to his waist, where his medical supplies would usually dangle during wartime. But of course, it wasn’t there.
Muted gunfire rang from somewhere far away, accompanied by the sound of people groaning.
The war veteran rolled out of cover as though bullets were flying overhead, before breaking into a mad dash down the platform. His legs pumped on their own, driven by instinct and muscle memory.
Dammit, I’m not quick enough. The soldiers need my help now!
He reached into his coat pocket, feeling cold metal greet his fingers. With a simple flick of his wrist, a dagger shot forward in a flash of silver, embedding itself in a brick wall ahead. Duncan leapt forward as his body vanished in a flash of gold.
He materialised again less than a second later, holding onto the Transylvanian Darting Dagger still stuck between the cold bricks. Duncan pushed himself off the wall and landed smoothly on the ground.
Still, the voices were coming from far away. It was as though he didn’t make any progress towards them at all. Duncan grasped at thin air as he tried to touch the non-existent medical kit again.
Hold on, I’m not in a war now. What am I doing—
“M— Medic?”
Duncan whipped around at the familiar voice.
“Medic, help me… It hurts…”
Lucy Carpenter was somehow in front of him, and she was dressed in a sixteenth-century English soldier uniform. The woman staggered towards him, her body bloodied and filled with stab wounds.
“Lucy!” Duncan exclaimed in shock, panic overriding all rationality. “Hold on, I’m coming!”
He sprinted as fast as he could, but the floor seemed to be moving in the opposite direction instead. “Wha—? What’s going on?”
Lucy’s screams filled the air as she spasmed. Blood spurted out of newly formed holes in her body, as though she were being stabbed by invisible spears.
“Wait, please! No!” Sparks fizzled from Duncan as he tried to open a portal to her, but his magic refused to come. “Give me another chance! I can save them! I can save—”
Lucy’s limp body knelt over and collapsed to the ground, blood soaking through her uniform and pooling on the concrete floor.
No… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…
A cold hand seized Duncan’s wrist roughly before he could react.
“You’re a Sorcerer!” Bertram Harvey screamed in his face, having appeared out of nowhere. “You could’ve done more to fight! You could’ve done more to save us! Why didn’t you do more to save us?!”
Duncan fell over in shock. His old war comrade crawled towards him, leaving behind a bloodied trail as he dragged his blown-off leg on the ground.
“You let us die while you live forever.” Bertram’s face flaked away, revealing more and more of his rotting skull with every word he spoke. “Why didn’t you share your life with us? We’re dead because of you!”
More hands grabbed Duncan, and he soon found himself in the middle of a few hundred half-rotted skeletons. Some of them were missing limbs, while others had huge holes in their bodies. They were all dressed in various military uniforms across the centuries.
“Save us… Save us, medic…” they collectively groaned, tugging and pulling at Duncan’s clothes. “Give us your life…”
Duncan choked as magic began to seep out of his pores. Energy was rapidly leaving his body, but he felt strangely disinclined to struggle, even though he now understood what was happening. It wasn’t because of guilt or anything. It was numbness.
He just couldn’t bring himself to face the ghosts of his past.
Duncan lay on the floor as the entities gorged on his energy to feed themselves. Not like he minded, though. After all, he had infinite energy reserves, thanks to the pills of eternal life in his body.
But he was only human, and he could never save everyone. No matter how hard he tried, there was always more. So perhaps this was just meant to be. Perhaps this was the best way he could atone for letting down the people he failed to save.
Darkness encroached on him as the peaceful lull of oblivion pulled him into its soothing embrace.
“Oh god… there’s so many of them. Help! Someone, help!”
Duncan’s eyes snapped open. The voice came from far away, but he recognised it nonetheless. A desperate groan escaped his lips as he began tugging at the shadowy hands pressing him down.
“Hilda…”
Golden light poured from his eyes. His magic channels sealed themselves as distorted screams of frustration rang in his ears.
No. He couldn’t go yet. Not like this. Not when he still had a promise to fulfil.
“Harvey…” he croaked, but his voice was quickly getting stronger. “Leave her alone… Leave Harvey alone!”
His surroundings got darker, but he got brighter. Yellow magic flowed around him like honey, coagulating around his body. The entities screeched and cringed away as though the liquid magic burnt them, their shadowy silhouettes now fully visible in the living light.
Focus hardened Duncan’s eyes as rationality returned to his mind. However this place functioned; it had certainly done a brilliant job at bringing back the ghosts of his past. He was no stranger to war fatigue— the experts had termed it ‘shell shock’ recently, but this was the first time it had taken over his mind.
No more. There was still more he could save.
Flinging another blob of raw magic at the lunging spirits, Duncan threw himself backwards dramatically and rolled onto the cold ground of the waiting train. The train doors shut themselves immediately before the spirits could make it in as well.
With the benefit of hindsight, this metaphor was obvious. Trains were often used to transport soldiers to and from the frontlines. Of course boarding the train was his ticket out of the warzone etched so deeply in his mind. He just didn’t have the presence of mind to see his way out earlier.
The train sped off in a flash of colour before arriving at the next station within two seconds. Duncan scarcely had time to congratulate himself for finding his way back when the train doors opened again.
An invisible force shoved him out of the train, throwing him in front of a crowd of writhing shadows.
For better or for worse, Hilda happened to be right in the middle of the shadowy crowd. She was swinging her mace blindly while Ronan cowered in fear beside her. Her wild swings weren’t exactly connecting with many shadows, but at least the defensive magic on her clothes was doing a fine job of keeping them at bay.
Drawing a shimmering pentagram in the air, Duncan screamed an ancient Latin incantation and pulled out a glowing sword from the symbol.
Golden light flickered in his eyes as he imbued holy magic into his magic weapon. The Sorcerer charged forward with a war cry and swung a few times, cutting a clean path through the writhing shadows.
“Hilda— Whoa! Hil— Hilda, stop! Stop!” Duncan ducked and leaned back, dodging the girl still swinging her weapon with her eyes closed. “It’s me, lass! It’s me!”
Hilda struggled for a few more seconds as the man held her wrists tightly, but she quickly calmed down.
“Dun— Duncan! Oh, thank god you came!” She held him tightly as her body shook with every sob. “You just disappeared suddenly, and… and then these things started coming out from the train over there— I’m so scared…”
“It’s alright now, it’s alright now…” Duncan patted her on the back. “I’m here… I’m here. You’re safe now…”
The shadows, on the other hand, retreated from the witch doctor, as though they were somehow afraid of him. Duncan looked on cautiously while he comforted his terrified companion. Could it be?
It can’t be that easy, can it?
Ripples of black swirled as the shadows mashed themselves together like a sentient puddle of water. Horror crept along Duncan’s face as they took another bigger, uglier form, swelling up to at least three metres in height. The newly formed monster dwarfed him as though he were a toddler in the presence of a grown man.
Hundreds of thin, insect-like legs protruded from the creature’s body, all of them wriggling out of sync with each other. Jagged streaks of glowing white patterns ran along its body, resembling more fancy scars rather than any sort of anatomical pattern.
Its new body was a round, fuzzy-looking, cylindrical shape, which mostly lacked features except for a pitch-black, void-esque hole on the top that was probably its mouth.
Dammit, it really isn’t going to be that easy.
The air pulsed with raw, untamed magic as the shadow monster swung at Duncan violently. He stepped to the side and sliced cleanly through the appendage with the grace of an experienced swordsman.
It circled behind him in an attempt to attack Hilda, but only got a firm whack for its troubles, on what looked like its head.
Strangely enough, it wasn’t instantly knocked out, as advertised by The Aterlier’s Seamstress. It was probably because this clump of shadows wasn’t a singular entity, despite being coherent enough to move together as a whole.
Duncan kept his body in front of Hilda, making sure to stand between her and the monster this time. Every now and then, a careless swipe or a simple flick punctuated the tension in the air, but the opponents regarded each other cautiously. Despite being an entity made of collective energy, this shadow monster seemed to possess some level of sentience.
Which meant that it had to be afraid of something as well.
Something clicked in Duncan’s mind. “Boy— Ronan! Yer still have that letter with ya? Give it to me!”
The fae boy jerked his head up at the sudden bark of instructions before producing the envelope again. Duncan turned his attention to the glyph on the paper, desperately trying to memorise it. Thank god its shape was simple enough to understand. And if he had deduced correctly, this glyph was the key to—
Hilda screamed as a sharpened appendage charged towards her. Duncan rushed forward without thinking, using his body to shield her.
“Guh!”
Blood spurted from his chest as the centipede-like monster plunged one of its legs through his back. Duncan groaned as the appendage lifted his struggling body. The monster flung him away carelessly, sending him crashing into a nearby pillar. Duncan crumpled to the ground, motionless.
“Duncan, no!” Hilda screamed as she tried to run towards him—
The monster swiped at her threateningly, as if daring her to make another move. She swung the mace at it, but it leaned back before plunging another appendage towards her again—
“There!”
Something golden struck the monster from the side. It squealed and writhed as a golden symbol sank into its body like a branding. A few stray spirits separated themselves from the monster and flitted into the darkness.
Duncan grinned behind a hovering glyph that he had drawn in the air as the gaping wound in his chest sealed itself up. He advanced towards the monster boldly. It was just as he had guessed; this glyph must have been how the Marked Emissaries were controlling the entities in this place.
It made sense, after all. That glyph could clearly manipulate magic channels directly, and manifestations of negative energy were simply magic channels themselves.
There was only one reason why those cultists bothered themselves trying to control the entities here.
Duncan punched the glyph a few more times as more symbols flew at the clumsy entity, which clearly lacked the agility to avoid any of the attacks. With a final war cry, the witch thrusted a generous amount of magic into the glyph, sending a huge symbol towards the monster.
Because these entities are the ones holding the prisoners!
The symbol struck it squarely, causing the shadows to disperse and flee along every dark corner they could find. Pitch-black darkness blinded Duncan momentarily before disappearing as abruptly as it came.
And just like that, the train station was suddenly littered with several dazed supernatural creatures.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcxvhsQH4gj
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