Pyramid Point, Solomon Island
“Two thousand and fifteen.” Tollands voice was low, barely above a whisper. Considering that for a moment, he sighed heavily, reaching across and picking up a piece of firewood. “Eternity can be deceiving,” he said thoughtfully, throwing the timber on the campfire and watching it burn. “With no reliable way to mark the passing of time, it just… blurs together.”
Standing on the other side of the fire, Street Sabre folded her arms over her chest. “So, I suppose the question is, when did things start blurring?” she asked.
“Nineteen forty,” the undead mage replied. “Although I suppose that really, the story begins the year before, in Europe. There was a war going on, a messy, complicated affair, even by the standards of such things,” he said dryly. “With every day that passed, it grew larger, dragging more people, more nations into its chaos.”
Street chuckled, earning a raised eyebrow (or what was left of his forehead) from the man. “These days, it’s called world war two,” she noted, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Which’ll probably tell you how well it all went for everyone.”
“Indeed,” Tolland said dryly. “We suspected it would be like that. In part, because such things can be depressingly predictable to those that have watched humanity for as long as we have… but mostly because the Circle of Thorns has a number of talented Seers among our ranks,” he admitted with a lopsided smile that showed far too many blackened and chipped teeth. Picking up a branch, he stirred the campfires ashes, kicking up a shower of blue sparks that drifted in the air. “They saw the death and chaos that was approaching, and in it, we saw opportunity. Scared and greedy men on all sides of the conflict, seeking power for a hundred different reasons. To destroy their enemies, to protect their loved ones, to reshape the world as they dreamed… the reasons didn’t really matter.”
Tilting her head to the side, Street considered the man. “Just a guess here, but I’m thinking your method of giving them that power would’ve involved those damn magical thorns.” Tolland nodded, grinning at her, and the heroine snorted. “You guys can be real assholes, you know that?”
Glancing over from where he was sitting on a large rock, a safe distance from Street, the group's Lightning Mage let slip a harsh laugh, before wincing and holding the block of ice one of his friends had summoned against the back of his head. “She’s crude, but she makes a fair point,” he noted.
“Thank you Isaiah.” Suppressing a chuckle, Tolland tried to keep on topic. “We set sail for England in, March I believe it was. A number of the Circles acolytes had remained in London when the majority of us returned to Orenbaga decades before. They had no public connections with the Circle of Thorns, and as such, had been spared the difficulties the Circle proper had faced after the Dream Doctors clashes with us.” He paused, glancing at Street Sabre to consider her reaction. After a moment, satisfied she either didn't recognise, or wasn’t going to comment on that particular bit of history, the man continued, shoulders slumping slightly. “We never reached London.”
“On the third day,” one of the ice mages said, taking up the story, “a fog came out of nowhere, swallowing the ship before the crew could turn us away. They thought it was nothing more than the weather being unpredictable. But those of us that could sense such things…” She gestured towards the ocean, and the Fog barrier that surrounded the island. “You can feel it, can’t you?” she asked as Street Sabre turned to consider the Fog again. “The power sleeping within the mists?”
“Damn near taste it,” the armoured woman muttered. Facing towards where the sky was lightening from the approaching sunrise, she missed the thoughtful looks several of the mages shared with each other. “It’s old, probably older than you lot. And the world… bends around it,” she mused, struggling to find a better description. Turning back to the gathered mages, she frowned. “I’m guessing it didn’t take you to Narnia.”
Pausing for a moment to wonder just where Narnia could be, Tolland shook his head. “Even at reduced speeds, we should have reached England in a matter of days. Instead, we drifted on a dead sea for over a week, the Fog blinding us to everything beyond the edge of the ship. The other passengers began to panic, and the crew could no longer keep them calm. After all, fear was claiming them as well...” Staring into the fire, he seemed to lose himself to the memory, voice growing quieter, more haunted, as he relived those days. “We tried to separate ourselves from the growing chaos as best we could, but more than anyone else aboard, we understood what was happening. Perhaps it was our presence, mystics of the Circle of Thorns, our own power catching the attention of something far worse. Perhaps it was simple misfortune that our ship was the one it chose that day. Whatever the reasons, the Darkness reached out, and we were taken from this world, dragged into a cold, wet hell.”
Tolland fell silent again, his attention on the flames, and it was Isaiah that continued on his behalf. “On the thirteenth day, we made landfall. It wasn’t deliberate, and it certainly wasn’t gentle. One moment, we were still pushing forward, the captain determined to escape the Fog, and the next, we were running aground on an impossible island.” Dropping the ice block, the Lightning Mage stood up and walked over to the campfire, keeping it between himself and Street Sabre. Looking at her over the blue flames, he chuckled. “As spirits, we drifted the abandoned halls of Orenbaga for thousands of years, so when I say that island was a truly miserable place, I speak from experience,” he noted. “Eternally grey skies, the land nothing but jagged rocks covered in a toxic red weed. And we were far from the first unfortunate souls to wash ashore. The entire damn shoreline was covered in shipwrecks. Some were almost as new as our liner, others were piles of rotten timber so far gone you could barely tell they were once boats.” Kneeling down, he picked up another log and threw it on the fire. “Mind you, we didn’t get the chance to explore the island for quite some time. You see, the Draug knew we were coming, and were waiting. The moment the liner came to a stop, they attacked.”
Glancing towards Kingsmouth, Street Sabre frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve seen the Draug on the beach,” the heroine noted, folding her arms under her breasts. “There’s a lot of the ugly bastards. One of ‘em was a lot bigger than the rest. Looked like some sort of leader. So, did the minions just swarm you, or do they get even bigger?”
Looking up from the fire, Tolland nodded. “Both, actually. The older, more powerful Draug reach that state by discarding their humanity, carving it out of their souls and offering it to their God as tribute. The end result is a creature that is very large, incredibly powerful, and utterly inhuman. We fought back as best we could, but really? Trapped in their realm, outnumbered, with the power of their Lords behind them?” Sighing, the man closed his eyes. “It was a lost cause from the start. And then it got worse.” Opening his eyes, the undead mage rose to his feet and walked around the fire towards Street. “You know of the Thorns, of their true purpose. How we manipulated power hungry fools into surrendering their bodies to us.”
“Yeah, we rescued the real Zoria years ago. He and his buddies are in the ghost equivalent of an asylum now,” she replied dryly.
Tolland took a moment to process that detail, then pressed on. “Before we crafted the Thorns, we took certain precautions. The spells woven into it were carefully planned out, to ensure that a number of unpleasant fates would be avoided. In the event of the death of our physical form, our spirits should return to the halls Orenbaga, safe and unharmed.” Pausing, he waited as Street Sabre looked him over, then glanced towards the other mages. “Exactly. Somehow, perhaps the Fog, perhaps the magics the Draug used against, perhaps some other mystery I’ve never been able to discover, something corrupted the spells woven into the Thorns.”
“When you died, and the Draug reanimated you, the bodies weren’t soulless shells,” she replied, horror slipping into her voice despite her best efforts. “Christ…”
“At first, the Draug were confused,” Tolland continued, sounding almost amused. “While we couldn’t understand their language, it was clear that we were something they’d never experienced before. Then, they were afraid, and angry.” Laughing, he gestured at his companions. “For us, the true burden of immortality was a horrible boredom. Anything new, anything different, was a welcome blessing. But the Draug embraced that boredom. When the unpredictable happened, it terrified them. And their response to fear is anger and violence.” Considering that for a moment, his expression became more thoughtful, like one would expect from a teacher. “Actually, their response to almost anything is violence. They’re a rather simple people, once you get to know them.”
Snorting, Isaiah rolled his eyes. “What he’s saying is that they tried to tear us apart,” he told Street Sabre. Reaching up to touch the back of his head, he gave her a wry grin. “I’m sure you noticed when you were trying to crack my skull open earlier, but while we can’t completely succumb to death, we do still feel pain. And so, naturally, we fought back. And lost, for the same reasons as the first time. And then we got back up again. And they tried to rip us apart, again. And we fought back, again. And I think you see the pattern.” She nodded in reply, the humor his words might have inspired kept in check by the images her experience and imagination conjured up. “They started enjoying it. I don’t know where they were from when they were still human, but their culture clearly loved fighting. Apparently, carving up their souls to feed their dark and soggy masters didn’t change that little fact.”
“And so, a rather painful routine developed,” Tolland said, voice tainted by painful memories. “When the Draug wished to make a tribute to their gods, when they needed to hone their skills in battle, when what few stars we could see were in the right place, or simply when they were bored…” Pausing, he took a deep breath, shaking off the memories. “Well, I’m sure you can imagine.” Street nodded, and he sighed, turning back towards the ocean. “That’s when time began to blur. An hour here, a day there, more, all lost to the jagged coral. After a while, we stopped counting. It just didn’t seem important.” Chuckling softly in bitter amusement, he shook his head. “It might be for the best that it happened. After all, if I’d realized how much time had passed, I think we might have given up on trying to escape.”
A weak giggle caught everyone's attention, and they turned to where one of the Ice Mages was sitting by the fire, nervously rubbing his hands together and shivering despite the warmth. “Seventy years,” he whispered, voice wavering unsteadily. “Always fighting, always running. So much pain, so much blood. We tried to escape, so many times… seventy years… But you can’t go into the Fog…” Closing his eyes, he seemed to shrink in on himself, whimpering.
Before anyone else could speak, Street Sabre stepped forward, kneeling down in front of the man. “But you did escape,” she said to him, her voice surprisingly gentle. “You got off that island, and you’re not alone.” As he opened his eyes and looked at her, she gave him a confident smile. “Used to be, there was no way past the Fog, but times change. When my team and I came here, we flew over it, never even went near the damn thing. And the reinforcements we’ve got heading this way? They’re doing the same thing.”
“Reinforcements?” one of the other mages asked, hope flickering across his ruined face. “More mystery men?”
Giving the Ice Mage a reassuring pat on the shoulder, the heroine stood back up. “Oh yes,” she said. “The Draug might be nice and safe on their hidden island, but here, it’s very different. You were all there at the beginning, even if you were on the other side. The legacy the Freedom Phalanx started? It’s endured wars, gods, demons, aliens, and it’s only gotten stronger.” Pausing, she chuckled and shook her head. “So many goddamn aliens...” Turning serious again, she looked at the people around her. “These bastards have no idea about the kind of firepower we’re gonna be dropping on their heads.”
“And what of us?” Tolland asked, raising an eyebrow. Street turned towards him, and he shrugged slightly. “Given the way you spoke of the Circle of Thorns, I doubt our companions back in Paragon City have done much to earn your goodwill over the decades.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been away from home pretty much all that time,” Street Sabre replied. “I figure if you don’t start shit, we can help each other out. Sound fair?”
Considering that for a moment, Tolland had to laugh quietly. “More than fair, really. Thank you.”
“So, you know how we got to the island,” Isaiah said. “And you can guess what happened for most of our time there.” Adjusting the sleeves of his tattered shirt, he glanced at the hero. “I doubt you want those details any more than we want to talk about them. Which brings us to the last part of the story.”
Nodding, Street folded her arms under her breastplate. “How you got off the island, and what you know about why the Draug came here.”
Grinning his horrible, broken teeth smile at her, the Lightning Mage leaned against a rock. “Every now and then, the Draug sent out raiding parties. They’d grab whichever wreck on the shore was still intact enough to sail, and drift on out into the Fog. Eventually, they’d come back with whatever they’d decided to steal, some freshly hatched Draug, and the bodies of some of their victims. But the Fog still surrounded the island, so we were still trapped.” His smile faded, his expression becoming more thoughtful. “Except it seems the Fog wasn’t tied to the actual island. There was something else, maybe a mystical artifact of some sort, maybe one of the Draugs masters. That was the source of the Fog. And where it went, the mists followed.”
Pondering that, Street frowned. “And it, or they, came here. The Fog came with them, and you lot figured out a way to tag along.” Grinning his broken smile, Isiah nodded. “So, what got the Draug so worked up they broke from tradition?” she asked.
Tolland took over the story, his own voice as thoughtful as hers. “Several weeks ago, a boat, a fishing trawler, came out of the Fog. On its own, that wasn’t really unusual. As Isaiah mentioned before, the entire shoreline was covered in shipwrecks. Unfortunately, the Draug always knew when more victims were arriving, and they were always on the beach, waiting. We’d found that drawing the creatures attentions at those moments was unproductive and really, quite painful. So we stayed well clear.” Sighing in irritation, he ran a hand through his hair. “Of course, if we hadn’t kept our distance, we might have discovered sooner that they hadn’t been summoned by the Draug. It was simple horrible chance that had brought them into the Draugs realm. By the time we realized the opportunity, the crew had come ashore, tried to find out where they were, and then…” Pausing for a moment, he considered the matter, then sighed again and shook his head. “I don’t know what they did. Just that it angered the Draug in a way we had never managed.”
Isaiah laughed, drawing Street Sabre’s gaze. Noticing her attention, he grinned at her. “The Ur-Draug. All those years we’d been trapped there, and we’d never even gotten close to it. All we had were whispers and theories. It was the Draug’s king, or perhaps their high priest. Every last piece of its humanity was gone, the remains of its soul growing into something that had no place in a rational world. Well, while the crew of that little trawler ran for their lives, we finally got to see the monster.” His good mood vanished as quickly as it arrived, and he turned towards the Fog, eyes narrowed. “Imagine a beast so large that buildings would only be a minor obstacle, one it could simply walk through without even slowing down. Deformed hands the size of automobiles, massive wings, and the dark remains of its soul are so powerful, so rotten, that the world around it is pulled towards it, twisting and warping. It exploded from its dark shrine, screaming. Gods, the screaming…” Wincing, he unconsciously rubbed at his ear. “I was at least two miles away from it, and my ears bled for hours. Any poor bastard unlucky enough to be between it and the shore was crushed. Draug, zombie, us, didn’t matter. But it wasn’t fast enough,” he noted with a touch of satisfaction in his voice. “By the time that thing reached the shore, the boat was vanishing into the Fog. While they haves of controlling it, protecting themselves from it, it seems even the Ur-Draug won’t just fly on into it. No. It’s insane and inhuman, but it’s still smart enough to know when to take caution.”
“It took them days to prepare,” Tolland said. “They gathered as many Draug as possible and packed them into one of the larger, newer wrecks, a massive cargo ship that put our old liner to shame. They cast their spells, performed their rituals, and set sail, the Fog moving around their ship, but never entering it.” He gave Street a playful smile, eyes gleaming with amusement. “We hid in the lower decks, in old shipping containers and maintenance rooms. It was quite a risk, but it worked. Once the ship made landfall, we waited for the Draug to swarm out, then followed along behind.” He nodded his head in the direction of the ocean. “It’s out there, on a small uninhabited island, just inside the Fog barrier. Once we realized there was land and civilisation here, we ‘borrowed’ one of the lifeboats. And…” Smiling softly, he gestured to his companions. “Here we are.”
For a long moment, Street Sabre was silent, looking out towards the Fog as she considered everything she’d been told, comparing it to what little she already knew. Eventually, she turned back to the mages, tilting her head to the side curiously. “The trawler. Do you know what it was called?” she asked, the tone of voice suggesting she already knew the answer.
“I saw a name on the side of the boat as it fled,” one of the Fire Mages replied. “I think it was called the Lady Margaret.”
***
Several hundred feet above the Kingsmouth shoreline, hidden by her armours cloaking system, Knight of the Peace scowled, glaring at the figures on the pier below her. “This is taking too long,” she grumbled, watching as a pack of Draug worked to untangle a zombie from the fishing nets it had caught itself in. Thanks to the coral growths that had taken over their right arms, this was proving to be a much more difficult than one would have expected.
Taking shelter behind a car that had been abandoned on the pier, Leon suppressed a laugh. “You’re not usually this impatient on an investigation,” he noted quietly. Shifting slightly, he glanced over the car hood, watching the Draug for a moment, then looked past them towards his goal, the fishing trawler tied up at the end of the pier.
Her scowl deepening, Robin glanced out across the ocean. “Dawn is almost here,” she pointed out, watching as the Fog barrier slowly shifted from black to a miserable grey. “I really don’t like the thought of you being on that pier once the sun comes up.” As she looked back down, the Draug started using the jagged edges of their coral to try and cut through the nets. “Especially if we don’t want to provoke them before we’re ready.”
“Okay, yeah, makes sense,” Leon agreed. “Four of us against all of them… Doable. Maybe. But not with Kingsmouth in the line of fire. At least, not until the survivors are safe.” Frowning thoughtfully, he considered that for a moment, watching as one of the Draug growled in frustration and pinned one of the zombies flailing arms under its foot before the mindless creature could wrap itself in netting again. ”When did that sort of crap become normal for us?”
“Either the Rikti, or the time Praetoria invaded Kings Row,” Robin replied, then paused for a moment to consider that. “So, nearly five years? At least? Huh.”
“Where did the time go?” Leon said, smirking, then his eyes widened slightly and he ducked back down behind his cover as the Draug finally managed to free the zombie. Before the creature could try to trap itself a second time, one of the Draug reached down and grabbed it by the ankle, pulling it away from the netting. Pausing to say something to its companion in a language the detective didn’t recognize, it started down the pier, the zombie being dragged along behind.
While Leon kept out of sight, Knight of the Peace watched the Draug carefully, waiting for them to walk past the car and down down the pier, away from Leon and the Lady Margaret. Once she was confident they wouldn’t turn around, she looked over the area again. After a moment, she nodded in satisfaction. “You’re clear.”
Climbing to his feet, Leon sprinted across the open pier as quickly as he could without making too much noise. Reaching the edge of the pier, he jumped over the railing and onto the deck of the Lady Margaret, bringing his rifle up and sweeping for any threats his girlfriend might have missed. “Made it,” he said as he crouched down, hiding from anything outside the boat. “Anyone see me?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Robin replied. “I think you’re clear.”
Nodding in faint satisfaction, Leon lowered his rifle, looking at his surroundings with a critical eye, comparing it to other fishing boats he’d dealt with over the years. “Streets new zombie friends said the Draug island had some sort of red weed all over it, right?” he asked.
“That’s what I remember hearing,” Purrfect Archer commented. “I’m guessing some of it got onto the boat?”
Taking an evidence bag out of a pocket, Leon looked up at the trawlers rigging, frowning thoughtfully at the patches of red he could see across it. “More than a little,” he said, crouching down next to an ice chest and collecting a sample of the weed. Holding up the bag for a closer inspection, his frown deepened into a scowl as he watched the piece of weed, almost the size of his thumb, twitch and squirm. “And I’m pretty sure it’s still alive and growing.”
The sigh that comment drew was long and profound. Leon took the moment to take a deep breath, tasting the air. He’d expected the salt, and the rotten flesh, be it fish or human. But there was something else lingering behind it the man couldn’t quite identify. “Please tell me I’m not going to have to kill it with fire,” Archer said at last.
“Yeah, I’m not making promises,” the detective replied. Watching his step, careful to avoid any of the seaweed, he started towards the steps leading up to the cockpit. “I don’t think it’s as bad as either of them were, but I’m getting serious Hamidon and Mot vibes from this crap.”
“Oh wonderful,” Robin grumbled. “We really needed that sort of nonsense back in our lives.”
“Hold up, I said it’s not as bad as them. It’s only twitching a bit,” he clarified, reaching the top of the stairs and walking over to the cockpit door. “It’s not actually trying to eat anything-” As he turned the handle, Leons attempts to reassure his girlfriend about the nature of his observations was rather violently interrupted by the door being slammed open from the inside, and a humanoid mix of rotten flesh and coral lunged towards him, snarling.
Despite his surprise, Leons reflexes proved up to the sudden challenge. Backing up a step, he blocked a wildly flailing arm with his rifle, wincing at the sound of the coral shards carving gouges into the weapon. When the beast swung at him again however, his attempt to step back pushed him into a railing, and the blow slammed into the rifle far harder than the man expected. Hard enough, in fact, that it knocked the police officer over the railing and down to the deck below, his weapon flying from his grip and sliding towards the aft of the boat.
Wincing at the pain shooting down his back from the fall, Leon rolled onto his side and started to climb to his feet. “Move left!” Robin's voice snapped through his earpiece, and the man obeyed almost instinctively, barely avoiding the monster as it leapt down from the top deck, its fists slamming into the deckplate hard enough to dent it slightly. Leon responded with a boot in the creature's side, knocking it to the other side of the boat, giving him just enough time to get to his feet before it lunged at him again.
Holding position high above the Lady Margaret, Knight of the Peace watched the pair fight, hand raised and ready to fire. “Ohhhh crap. Leon, I haven’t got a clean shot!” she said, even as her partner ducked under another swing, slamming an elbow into the back of the monster's neck.
“You guys need backup?” Street Sabre asked over the comms, sounding concerned.
“Not yet. I’ve got this prick handled,” Leon replied, spinning to face his opponent as the creature stumbled. “Rob, you just take care of the others.”
“Others?” Robin asked, right before her suits motion trackers began demanding attention. “Oh, I see.” All the noise from the trawler had not gone unnoticed, and now nearly a dozen Draug were running towards the pier, while even more were gathering around the nests she’d seen earlier. Grinning to herself, she targeted an area of the pier, waited several seconds for the first wave of monsters to reach it, and sent a command to her suits weapons array. Panels on her thighs and shoulders flipped open, revealing clusters of micro-missiles. A moment later, the sound of rockets launching grabbed the Draugs attention, and they looked up just in time to see the first salvo detonate directly above them.
While the concussion warheads threw the surprised Draug in every direction, Leon was still moving around the boat, trying to stay ahead of the monster trying to get its hands on him. It helped that this thing seemed to be about as smart as an average zombie, relying on wild lunges and swings. Jumping over an icebox, he spun and kicked it into the creature's legs, sending it to the deck again. As it tried to stand up, Leon slammed a boot down onto the back of its head, driving it back down again.
Keeping his weight pressed down on the creature, the detective took the opportunity to consider its appearance. After a moment, his scowl grew worse, as the details he saw became a horrible understanding. This thing wasn’t like the Draug he’d seen across the shoreline. There was coral growing out of its body, but it was random, tearing through flesh in an uncoordinated mess, unlike the organic weapons most of the Draug soldiers had. Where the Draug were bald, this one still had hair on its head, at least where the decaying skin hadn’t fallen off.
However, the most worrying difference between this creature and the other Draug, even the newly hatched ones, was the fact that this one wasn’t naked. While Leon would have preferred all the undead monstrosities were at least partially dressed, this was the only one he’d seen in any kind of clothing. The coat, flannel shirt and denim jeans were barely more than rags at this point, but their very presence was the final detail he needed.
This thing wasn’t a zombie that had been deliberately altered into a Draug. It had been a man, most likely one of the Lady Margaret's crew, who had gotten the coral inside his body somehow, and it had grown from there. He might have even been alive when the transformation began.
Swearing under his breath at the implications of that, Leon looked around, trying to see where his rifle had landed. In that moment of distraction, his weight shifted, and the creature seized the opportunity, lunging to its feet and throwing the detective backwards. Grunting in mild pain as he hit the the decking, Leon looked up to see the corpse snarling as it moved towards him again. “Hell with this,” he muttered, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a massive, gold plated revolver. Before the creature could charge again, the gun roared, Leon fanning the hammer and emptying the weapon in seconds. The heavy slugs slammed into the monster's chest and head,ripping flesh and coral apart in a shower of gore. For a moment, the zombie stood there, wavering slightly, then dropped like a bag of rocks.
Climbing to his feet, Leon took a fresh ammo cell from his jacket and reloaded the hand cannon, aiming it at what remained of the creature's head. After several seconds, when the corpse failed to move, he lowered the gun and looked around. Once more, he was alone on the boat, with no sign of any more surprises ready to leap at him from the shadows. “Well, my trouble’s down,” he reported.
“I suppose that’s something,” Robin muttered, the crack of her energy blasts echoing through both Leons earpiece and across the pier. Looking in that direction, he frowned, watching bolts of light rain down from the sky towards the Draug. At the same time, a number of the Draug were returning fire, some launching coral spikes from their bodies, while others were making odd gestures that Leon suspected was some form of spell, directing streams of filthy black water from the ocean and into the sky.
With Knight of the Peace hidden behind her suits stealth systems, the Draug weren’t having much success at actually hitting the heroine as she darted around. But sooner or later, the sheer quantity of firepower being sent into the sky was going to get lucky. “Dammit. So much for searching this place properly,” Leon grumbled, taking out another evidence bag and collecting a coral fragment. Pausing, he considered the corpse for a moment, then carefully searched into the coat pockets, finding a wallet and large notebook. Putting those away, he looked around the deck again, finding his rifle behind a pile of nets. Retrieving it, he slid his sleeve up and tapped a button on his arm bracer, summoning his jetpack. “Falling back now,” he reported, taking to the air.
After throwing a few explosive bolts intended to force the Draug to keep their heads down, Knight of the Peace joined him. A moment later, the Draug spellcasters fell silent, looking around in confusion, as they realized that their enemies had simply vanished.
***
“Two thousand and fifteen.” Tollands voice was low, barely above a whisper. Considering that for a moment, he sighed heavily, reaching across and picking up a piece of firewood. “Eternity can be deceiving,” he said thoughtfully, throwing the timber on the campfire and watching it burn. “With no reliable way to mark the passing of time, it just… blurs together.”
Standing on the other side of the fire, Street Sabre folded her arms over her chest. “So, I suppose the question is, when did things start blurring?” she asked.
“Nineteen forty,” the undead mage replied. “Although I suppose that really, the story begins the year before, in Europe. There was a war going on, a messy, complicated affair, even by the standards of such things,” he said dryly. “With every day that passed, it grew larger, dragging more people, more nations into its chaos.”
Street chuckled, earning a raised eyebrow (or what was left of his forehead) from the man. “These days, it’s called world war two,” she noted, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Which’ll probably tell you how well it all went for everyone.”
“Indeed,” Tolland said dryly. “We suspected it would be like that. In part, because such things can be depressingly predictable to those that have watched humanity for as long as we have… but mostly because the Circle of Thorns has a number of talented Seers among our ranks,” he admitted with a lopsided smile that showed far too many blackened and chipped teeth. Picking up a branch, he stirred the campfires ashes, kicking up a shower of blue sparks that drifted in the air. “They saw the death and chaos that was approaching, and in it, we saw opportunity. Scared and greedy men on all sides of the conflict, seeking power for a hundred different reasons. To destroy their enemies, to protect their loved ones, to reshape the world as they dreamed… the reasons didn’t really matter.”
Tilting her head to the side, Street considered the man. “Just a guess here, but I’m thinking your method of giving them that power would’ve involved those damn magical thorns.” Tolland nodded, grinning at her, and the heroine snorted. “You guys can be real assholes, you know that?”
Glancing over from where he was sitting on a large rock, a safe distance from Street, the group's Lightning Mage let slip a harsh laugh, before wincing and holding the block of ice one of his friends had summoned against the back of his head. “She’s crude, but she makes a fair point,” he noted.
“Thank you Isaiah.” Suppressing a chuckle, Tolland tried to keep on topic. “We set sail for England in, March I believe it was. A number of the Circles acolytes had remained in London when the majority of us returned to Orenbaga decades before. They had no public connections with the Circle of Thorns, and as such, had been spared the difficulties the Circle proper had faced after the Dream Doctors clashes with us.” He paused, glancing at Street Sabre to consider her reaction. After a moment, satisfied she either didn't recognise, or wasn’t going to comment on that particular bit of history, the man continued, shoulders slumping slightly. “We never reached London.”
“On the third day,” one of the ice mages said, taking up the story, “a fog came out of nowhere, swallowing the ship before the crew could turn us away. They thought it was nothing more than the weather being unpredictable. But those of us that could sense such things…” She gestured towards the ocean, and the Fog barrier that surrounded the island. “You can feel it, can’t you?” she asked as Street Sabre turned to consider the Fog again. “The power sleeping within the mists?”
“Damn near taste it,” the armoured woman muttered. Facing towards where the sky was lightening from the approaching sunrise, she missed the thoughtful looks several of the mages shared with each other. “It’s old, probably older than you lot. And the world… bends around it,” she mused, struggling to find a better description. Turning back to the gathered mages, she frowned. “I’m guessing it didn’t take you to Narnia.”
Pausing for a moment to wonder just where Narnia could be, Tolland shook his head. “Even at reduced speeds, we should have reached England in a matter of days. Instead, we drifted on a dead sea for over a week, the Fog blinding us to everything beyond the edge of the ship. The other passengers began to panic, and the crew could no longer keep them calm. After all, fear was claiming them as well...” Staring into the fire, he seemed to lose himself to the memory, voice growing quieter, more haunted, as he relived those days. “We tried to separate ourselves from the growing chaos as best we could, but more than anyone else aboard, we understood what was happening. Perhaps it was our presence, mystics of the Circle of Thorns, our own power catching the attention of something far worse. Perhaps it was simple misfortune that our ship was the one it chose that day. Whatever the reasons, the Darkness reached out, and we were taken from this world, dragged into a cold, wet hell.”
Tolland fell silent again, his attention on the flames, and it was Isaiah that continued on his behalf. “On the thirteenth day, we made landfall. It wasn’t deliberate, and it certainly wasn’t gentle. One moment, we were still pushing forward, the captain determined to escape the Fog, and the next, we were running aground on an impossible island.” Dropping the ice block, the Lightning Mage stood up and walked over to the campfire, keeping it between himself and Street Sabre. Looking at her over the blue flames, he chuckled. “As spirits, we drifted the abandoned halls of Orenbaga for thousands of years, so when I say that island was a truly miserable place, I speak from experience,” he noted. “Eternally grey skies, the land nothing but jagged rocks covered in a toxic red weed. And we were far from the first unfortunate souls to wash ashore. The entire damn shoreline was covered in shipwrecks. Some were almost as new as our liner, others were piles of rotten timber so far gone you could barely tell they were once boats.” Kneeling down, he picked up another log and threw it on the fire. “Mind you, we didn’t get the chance to explore the island for quite some time. You see, the Draug knew we were coming, and were waiting. The moment the liner came to a stop, they attacked.”
Glancing towards Kingsmouth, Street Sabre frowned thoughtfully. “I’ve seen the Draug on the beach,” the heroine noted, folding her arms under her breasts. “There’s a lot of the ugly bastards. One of ‘em was a lot bigger than the rest. Looked like some sort of leader. So, did the minions just swarm you, or do they get even bigger?”
Looking up from the fire, Tolland nodded. “Both, actually. The older, more powerful Draug reach that state by discarding their humanity, carving it out of their souls and offering it to their God as tribute. The end result is a creature that is very large, incredibly powerful, and utterly inhuman. We fought back as best we could, but really? Trapped in their realm, outnumbered, with the power of their Lords behind them?” Sighing, the man closed his eyes. “It was a lost cause from the start. And then it got worse.” Opening his eyes, the undead mage rose to his feet and walked around the fire towards Street. “You know of the Thorns, of their true purpose. How we manipulated power hungry fools into surrendering their bodies to us.”
“Yeah, we rescued the real Zoria years ago. He and his buddies are in the ghost equivalent of an asylum now,” she replied dryly.
Tolland took a moment to process that detail, then pressed on. “Before we crafted the Thorns, we took certain precautions. The spells woven into it were carefully planned out, to ensure that a number of unpleasant fates would be avoided. In the event of the death of our physical form, our spirits should return to the halls Orenbaga, safe and unharmed.” Pausing, he waited as Street Sabre looked him over, then glanced towards the other mages. “Exactly. Somehow, perhaps the Fog, perhaps the magics the Draug used against, perhaps some other mystery I’ve never been able to discover, something corrupted the spells woven into the Thorns.”
“When you died, and the Draug reanimated you, the bodies weren’t soulless shells,” she replied, horror slipping into her voice despite her best efforts. “Christ…”
“At first, the Draug were confused,” Tolland continued, sounding almost amused. “While we couldn’t understand their language, it was clear that we were something they’d never experienced before. Then, they were afraid, and angry.” Laughing, he gestured at his companions. “For us, the true burden of immortality was a horrible boredom. Anything new, anything different, was a welcome blessing. But the Draug embraced that boredom. When the unpredictable happened, it terrified them. And their response to fear is anger and violence.” Considering that for a moment, his expression became more thoughtful, like one would expect from a teacher. “Actually, their response to almost anything is violence. They’re a rather simple people, once you get to know them.”
Snorting, Isaiah rolled his eyes. “What he’s saying is that they tried to tear us apart,” he told Street Sabre. Reaching up to touch the back of his head, he gave her a wry grin. “I’m sure you noticed when you were trying to crack my skull open earlier, but while we can’t completely succumb to death, we do still feel pain. And so, naturally, we fought back. And lost, for the same reasons as the first time. And then we got back up again. And they tried to rip us apart, again. And we fought back, again. And I think you see the pattern.” She nodded in reply, the humor his words might have inspired kept in check by the images her experience and imagination conjured up. “They started enjoying it. I don’t know where they were from when they were still human, but their culture clearly loved fighting. Apparently, carving up their souls to feed their dark and soggy masters didn’t change that little fact.”
“And so, a rather painful routine developed,” Tolland said, voice tainted by painful memories. “When the Draug wished to make a tribute to their gods, when they needed to hone their skills in battle, when what few stars we could see were in the right place, or simply when they were bored…” Pausing, he took a deep breath, shaking off the memories. “Well, I’m sure you can imagine.” Street nodded, and he sighed, turning back towards the ocean. “That’s when time began to blur. An hour here, a day there, more, all lost to the jagged coral. After a while, we stopped counting. It just didn’t seem important.” Chuckling softly in bitter amusement, he shook his head. “It might be for the best that it happened. After all, if I’d realized how much time had passed, I think we might have given up on trying to escape.”
A weak giggle caught everyone's attention, and they turned to where one of the Ice Mages was sitting by the fire, nervously rubbing his hands together and shivering despite the warmth. “Seventy years,” he whispered, voice wavering unsteadily. “Always fighting, always running. So much pain, so much blood. We tried to escape, so many times… seventy years… But you can’t go into the Fog…” Closing his eyes, he seemed to shrink in on himself, whimpering.
Before anyone else could speak, Street Sabre stepped forward, kneeling down in front of the man. “But you did escape,” she said to him, her voice surprisingly gentle. “You got off that island, and you’re not alone.” As he opened his eyes and looked at her, she gave him a confident smile. “Used to be, there was no way past the Fog, but times change. When my team and I came here, we flew over it, never even went near the damn thing. And the reinforcements we’ve got heading this way? They’re doing the same thing.”
“Reinforcements?” one of the other mages asked, hope flickering across his ruined face. “More mystery men?”
Giving the Ice Mage a reassuring pat on the shoulder, the heroine stood back up. “Oh yes,” she said. “The Draug might be nice and safe on their hidden island, but here, it’s very different. You were all there at the beginning, even if you were on the other side. The legacy the Freedom Phalanx started? It’s endured wars, gods, demons, aliens, and it’s only gotten stronger.” Pausing, she chuckled and shook her head. “So many goddamn aliens...” Turning serious again, she looked at the people around her. “These bastards have no idea about the kind of firepower we’re gonna be dropping on their heads.”
“And what of us?” Tolland asked, raising an eyebrow. Street turned towards him, and he shrugged slightly. “Given the way you spoke of the Circle of Thorns, I doubt our companions back in Paragon City have done much to earn your goodwill over the decades.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been away from home pretty much all that time,” Street Sabre replied. “I figure if you don’t start shit, we can help each other out. Sound fair?”
Considering that for a moment, Tolland had to laugh quietly. “More than fair, really. Thank you.”
“So, you know how we got to the island,” Isaiah said. “And you can guess what happened for most of our time there.” Adjusting the sleeves of his tattered shirt, he glanced at the hero. “I doubt you want those details any more than we want to talk about them. Which brings us to the last part of the story.”
Nodding, Street folded her arms under her breastplate. “How you got off the island, and what you know about why the Draug came here.”
Grinning his horrible, broken teeth smile at her, the Lightning Mage leaned against a rock. “Every now and then, the Draug sent out raiding parties. They’d grab whichever wreck on the shore was still intact enough to sail, and drift on out into the Fog. Eventually, they’d come back with whatever they’d decided to steal, some freshly hatched Draug, and the bodies of some of their victims. But the Fog still surrounded the island, so we were still trapped.” His smile faded, his expression becoming more thoughtful. “Except it seems the Fog wasn’t tied to the actual island. There was something else, maybe a mystical artifact of some sort, maybe one of the Draugs masters. That was the source of the Fog. And where it went, the mists followed.”
Pondering that, Street frowned. “And it, or they, came here. The Fog came with them, and you lot figured out a way to tag along.” Grinning his broken smile, Isiah nodded. “So, what got the Draug so worked up they broke from tradition?” she asked.
Tolland took over the story, his own voice as thoughtful as hers. “Several weeks ago, a boat, a fishing trawler, came out of the Fog. On its own, that wasn’t really unusual. As Isaiah mentioned before, the entire shoreline was covered in shipwrecks. Unfortunately, the Draug always knew when more victims were arriving, and they were always on the beach, waiting. We’d found that drawing the creatures attentions at those moments was unproductive and really, quite painful. So we stayed well clear.” Sighing in irritation, he ran a hand through his hair. “Of course, if we hadn’t kept our distance, we might have discovered sooner that they hadn’t been summoned by the Draug. It was simple horrible chance that had brought them into the Draugs realm. By the time we realized the opportunity, the crew had come ashore, tried to find out where they were, and then…” Pausing for a moment, he considered the matter, then sighed again and shook his head. “I don’t know what they did. Just that it angered the Draug in a way we had never managed.”
Isaiah laughed, drawing Street Sabre’s gaze. Noticing her attention, he grinned at her. “The Ur-Draug. All those years we’d been trapped there, and we’d never even gotten close to it. All we had were whispers and theories. It was the Draug’s king, or perhaps their high priest. Every last piece of its humanity was gone, the remains of its soul growing into something that had no place in a rational world. Well, while the crew of that little trawler ran for their lives, we finally got to see the monster.” His good mood vanished as quickly as it arrived, and he turned towards the Fog, eyes narrowed. “Imagine a beast so large that buildings would only be a minor obstacle, one it could simply walk through without even slowing down. Deformed hands the size of automobiles, massive wings, and the dark remains of its soul are so powerful, so rotten, that the world around it is pulled towards it, twisting and warping. It exploded from its dark shrine, screaming. Gods, the screaming…” Wincing, he unconsciously rubbed at his ear. “I was at least two miles away from it, and my ears bled for hours. Any poor bastard unlucky enough to be between it and the shore was crushed. Draug, zombie, us, didn’t matter. But it wasn’t fast enough,” he noted with a touch of satisfaction in his voice. “By the time that thing reached the shore, the boat was vanishing into the Fog. While they haves of controlling it, protecting themselves from it, it seems even the Ur-Draug won’t just fly on into it. No. It’s insane and inhuman, but it’s still smart enough to know when to take caution.”
“It took them days to prepare,” Tolland said. “They gathered as many Draug as possible and packed them into one of the larger, newer wrecks, a massive cargo ship that put our old liner to shame. They cast their spells, performed their rituals, and set sail, the Fog moving around their ship, but never entering it.” He gave Street a playful smile, eyes gleaming with amusement. “We hid in the lower decks, in old shipping containers and maintenance rooms. It was quite a risk, but it worked. Once the ship made landfall, we waited for the Draug to swarm out, then followed along behind.” He nodded his head in the direction of the ocean. “It’s out there, on a small uninhabited island, just inside the Fog barrier. Once we realized there was land and civilisation here, we ‘borrowed’ one of the lifeboats. And…” Smiling softly, he gestured to his companions. “Here we are.”
For a long moment, Street Sabre was silent, looking out towards the Fog as she considered everything she’d been told, comparing it to what little she already knew. Eventually, she turned back to the mages, tilting her head to the side curiously. “The trawler. Do you know what it was called?” she asked, the tone of voice suggesting she already knew the answer.
“I saw a name on the side of the boat as it fled,” one of the Fire Mages replied. “I think it was called the Lady Margaret.”
***
Several hundred feet above the Kingsmouth shoreline, hidden by her armours cloaking system, Knight of the Peace scowled, glaring at the figures on the pier below her. “This is taking too long,” she grumbled, watching as a pack of Draug worked to untangle a zombie from the fishing nets it had caught itself in. Thanks to the coral growths that had taken over their right arms, this was proving to be a much more difficult than one would have expected.
Taking shelter behind a car that had been abandoned on the pier, Leon suppressed a laugh. “You’re not usually this impatient on an investigation,” he noted quietly. Shifting slightly, he glanced over the car hood, watching the Draug for a moment, then looked past them towards his goal, the fishing trawler tied up at the end of the pier.
Her scowl deepening, Robin glanced out across the ocean. “Dawn is almost here,” she pointed out, watching as the Fog barrier slowly shifted from black to a miserable grey. “I really don’t like the thought of you being on that pier once the sun comes up.” As she looked back down, the Draug started using the jagged edges of their coral to try and cut through the nets. “Especially if we don’t want to provoke them before we’re ready.”
“Okay, yeah, makes sense,” Leon agreed. “Four of us against all of them… Doable. Maybe. But not with Kingsmouth in the line of fire. At least, not until the survivors are safe.” Frowning thoughtfully, he considered that for a moment, watching as one of the Draug growled in frustration and pinned one of the zombies flailing arms under its foot before the mindless creature could wrap itself in netting again. ”When did that sort of crap become normal for us?”
“Either the Rikti, or the time Praetoria invaded Kings Row,” Robin replied, then paused for a moment to consider that. “So, nearly five years? At least? Huh.”
“Where did the time go?” Leon said, smirking, then his eyes widened slightly and he ducked back down behind his cover as the Draug finally managed to free the zombie. Before the creature could try to trap itself a second time, one of the Draug reached down and grabbed it by the ankle, pulling it away from the netting. Pausing to say something to its companion in a language the detective didn’t recognize, it started down the pier, the zombie being dragged along behind.
While Leon kept out of sight, Knight of the Peace watched the Draug carefully, waiting for them to walk past the car and down down the pier, away from Leon and the Lady Margaret. Once she was confident they wouldn’t turn around, she looked over the area again. After a moment, she nodded in satisfaction. “You’re clear.”
Climbing to his feet, Leon sprinted across the open pier as quickly as he could without making too much noise. Reaching the edge of the pier, he jumped over the railing and onto the deck of the Lady Margaret, bringing his rifle up and sweeping for any threats his girlfriend might have missed. “Made it,” he said as he crouched down, hiding from anything outside the boat. “Anyone see me?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” Robin replied. “I think you’re clear.”
Nodding in faint satisfaction, Leon lowered his rifle, looking at his surroundings with a critical eye, comparing it to other fishing boats he’d dealt with over the years. “Streets new zombie friends said the Draug island had some sort of red weed all over it, right?” he asked.
“That’s what I remember hearing,” Purrfect Archer commented. “I’m guessing some of it got onto the boat?”
Taking an evidence bag out of a pocket, Leon looked up at the trawlers rigging, frowning thoughtfully at the patches of red he could see across it. “More than a little,” he said, crouching down next to an ice chest and collecting a sample of the weed. Holding up the bag for a closer inspection, his frown deepened into a scowl as he watched the piece of weed, almost the size of his thumb, twitch and squirm. “And I’m pretty sure it’s still alive and growing.”
The sigh that comment drew was long and profound. Leon took the moment to take a deep breath, tasting the air. He’d expected the salt, and the rotten flesh, be it fish or human. But there was something else lingering behind it the man couldn’t quite identify. “Please tell me I’m not going to have to kill it with fire,” Archer said at last.
“Yeah, I’m not making promises,” the detective replied. Watching his step, careful to avoid any of the seaweed, he started towards the steps leading up to the cockpit. “I don’t think it’s as bad as either of them were, but I’m getting serious Hamidon and Mot vibes from this crap.”
“Oh wonderful,” Robin grumbled. “We really needed that sort of nonsense back in our lives.”
“Hold up, I said it’s not as bad as them. It’s only twitching a bit,” he clarified, reaching the top of the stairs and walking over to the cockpit door. “It’s not actually trying to eat anything-” As he turned the handle, Leons attempts to reassure his girlfriend about the nature of his observations was rather violently interrupted by the door being slammed open from the inside, and a humanoid mix of rotten flesh and coral lunged towards him, snarling.
Despite his surprise, Leons reflexes proved up to the sudden challenge. Backing up a step, he blocked a wildly flailing arm with his rifle, wincing at the sound of the coral shards carving gouges into the weapon. When the beast swung at him again however, his attempt to step back pushed him into a railing, and the blow slammed into the rifle far harder than the man expected. Hard enough, in fact, that it knocked the police officer over the railing and down to the deck below, his weapon flying from his grip and sliding towards the aft of the boat.
Wincing at the pain shooting down his back from the fall, Leon rolled onto his side and started to climb to his feet. “Move left!” Robin's voice snapped through his earpiece, and the man obeyed almost instinctively, barely avoiding the monster as it leapt down from the top deck, its fists slamming into the deckplate hard enough to dent it slightly. Leon responded with a boot in the creature's side, knocking it to the other side of the boat, giving him just enough time to get to his feet before it lunged at him again.
Holding position high above the Lady Margaret, Knight of the Peace watched the pair fight, hand raised and ready to fire. “Ohhhh crap. Leon, I haven’t got a clean shot!” she said, even as her partner ducked under another swing, slamming an elbow into the back of the monster's neck.
“You guys need backup?” Street Sabre asked over the comms, sounding concerned.
“Not yet. I’ve got this prick handled,” Leon replied, spinning to face his opponent as the creature stumbled. “Rob, you just take care of the others.”
“Others?” Robin asked, right before her suits motion trackers began demanding attention. “Oh, I see.” All the noise from the trawler had not gone unnoticed, and now nearly a dozen Draug were running towards the pier, while even more were gathering around the nests she’d seen earlier. Grinning to herself, she targeted an area of the pier, waited several seconds for the first wave of monsters to reach it, and sent a command to her suits weapons array. Panels on her thighs and shoulders flipped open, revealing clusters of micro-missiles. A moment later, the sound of rockets launching grabbed the Draugs attention, and they looked up just in time to see the first salvo detonate directly above them.
While the concussion warheads threw the surprised Draug in every direction, Leon was still moving around the boat, trying to stay ahead of the monster trying to get its hands on him. It helped that this thing seemed to be about as smart as an average zombie, relying on wild lunges and swings. Jumping over an icebox, he spun and kicked it into the creature's legs, sending it to the deck again. As it tried to stand up, Leon slammed a boot down onto the back of its head, driving it back down again.
Keeping his weight pressed down on the creature, the detective took the opportunity to consider its appearance. After a moment, his scowl grew worse, as the details he saw became a horrible understanding. This thing wasn’t like the Draug he’d seen across the shoreline. There was coral growing out of its body, but it was random, tearing through flesh in an uncoordinated mess, unlike the organic weapons most of the Draug soldiers had. Where the Draug were bald, this one still had hair on its head, at least where the decaying skin hadn’t fallen off.
However, the most worrying difference between this creature and the other Draug, even the newly hatched ones, was the fact that this one wasn’t naked. While Leon would have preferred all the undead monstrosities were at least partially dressed, this was the only one he’d seen in any kind of clothing. The coat, flannel shirt and denim jeans were barely more than rags at this point, but their very presence was the final detail he needed.
This thing wasn’t a zombie that had been deliberately altered into a Draug. It had been a man, most likely one of the Lady Margaret's crew, who had gotten the coral inside his body somehow, and it had grown from there. He might have even been alive when the transformation began.
Swearing under his breath at the implications of that, Leon looked around, trying to see where his rifle had landed. In that moment of distraction, his weight shifted, and the creature seized the opportunity, lunging to its feet and throwing the detective backwards. Grunting in mild pain as he hit the the decking, Leon looked up to see the corpse snarling as it moved towards him again. “Hell with this,” he muttered, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a massive, gold plated revolver. Before the creature could charge again, the gun roared, Leon fanning the hammer and emptying the weapon in seconds. The heavy slugs slammed into the monster's chest and head,ripping flesh and coral apart in a shower of gore. For a moment, the zombie stood there, wavering slightly, then dropped like a bag of rocks.
Climbing to his feet, Leon took a fresh ammo cell from his jacket and reloaded the hand cannon, aiming it at what remained of the creature's head. After several seconds, when the corpse failed to move, he lowered the gun and looked around. Once more, he was alone on the boat, with no sign of any more surprises ready to leap at him from the shadows. “Well, my trouble’s down,” he reported.
“I suppose that’s something,” Robin muttered, the crack of her energy blasts echoing through both Leons earpiece and across the pier. Looking in that direction, he frowned, watching bolts of light rain down from the sky towards the Draug. At the same time, a number of the Draug were returning fire, some launching coral spikes from their bodies, while others were making odd gestures that Leon suspected was some form of spell, directing streams of filthy black water from the ocean and into the sky.
With Knight of the Peace hidden behind her suits stealth systems, the Draug weren’t having much success at actually hitting the heroine as she darted around. But sooner or later, the sheer quantity of firepower being sent into the sky was going to get lucky. “Dammit. So much for searching this place properly,” Leon grumbled, taking out another evidence bag and collecting a coral fragment. Pausing, he considered the corpse for a moment, then carefully searched into the coat pockets, finding a wallet and large notebook. Putting those away, he looked around the deck again, finding his rifle behind a pile of nets. Retrieving it, he slid his sleeve up and tapped a button on his arm bracer, summoning his jetpack. “Falling back now,” he reported, taking to the air.
After throwing a few explosive bolts intended to force the Draug to keep their heads down, Knight of the Peace joined him. A moment later, the Draug spellcasters fell silent, looking around in confusion, as they realized that their enemies had simply vanished.
***