Iscariot stood at the edge of the gate, eyes closed and completely tuned out to the world. His sole focus was on the gate and attacking the Elder One from an alternate pne of existence. A feat in itself, yet he let out a sigh, breaking the gate and his attack. Unable to continue the task, he assumed that Scott, Lou, and Elysif had already killed or apprehended the Elder One. He was not greeted with such a sight. Before him, lied Scott, barely alive at best, with no sign of Lou, the masked figure of the Elder One menacingly approaching, and each of Elysif’s familiars charging at him with a vengeful fury. “Oh, bugger,” he muttered with a distraught but stoic expression, for he was too mentally exhausted to do anything magical for the time being.

  Elysif’s familiars rushed the Elder One, ethereal knights in blue light. Each of the thirteen held their halberts for different swinging and stabbing motions in order to completely cut him off. Only to have every st one of them impaled by the Elder One's pikes, summoned from the dirt and cobblestone street. For only a second, there was silence. Followed by a guttural scream of pain erupting from Elysif atop a nearby building. With one hand she grabbed her forehead, scratching and tearing at her scalp and skin. Her other hand felt around her bag desperately for a potion, prepared in advance for this exact situation. Popping out the cork, she downed the contents and began smming her fist into the roof as the pain increased and then vanished near entirely. Getting up, she began to climb down from the building.

  *** The Elder One strode slowly towards Iscariot, past the incapacitated Scott. Iscariot, having accepted his defeat, began to formute a way for him to escape with Scott and Elysif, leaving Lou to his fate. However, he noticed that the masked figure had stopped. Slowly turning around to look back at the bridge, a faint echo of metallic footsteps softly rang through the area. These steps carried with them an aura of impending doom, one which terrified the Elder One. Within the shadow of the alleyway across the bridge, he saw it emerge, a rough mask in the fog, dirty white, and cut by a single bck streak from the top left down to the right jawline. From each of the eye slits were red lines, mimicking an endless stream of bloody tears. The most off-putting part of the mask was the rge horrifying smile that acted as a mouth slit, yet, there was no mouth beneath it, just the hollow darkness. His body was covered with a dirt-covered grey coat, whose torn and tattered coattails hung down just past his knees. On his forearms and lower legs were dark purple ethereal ptemail that covered his shoes and hands. Adorning his side was a sword with a simple wooden hilt. To match his outfit, Sir Micheal’s mud-stained silver hair hung just below his shoulders.

  Seeing Sir Micheal approaching him, the Elder One shifted his attention away from Iscariot and began to yell angrily. “So… Sir Micheal reveals himself. Are you mad that I had been pretending to be you? Everyone swears you’re dead. Have you come back from the dead, or were you just hiding? What is the answer, Micheal?”

  Sir Micheal did not respond and continued to march forward, only stopping upon reaching the middle of the bridge. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he revealed that it was the same purple colour as his armor. Out of respect, he did a formal knight's salute without a word. This only angered the Elder One, much to Iscariot’s amusement, as he summoned several bdes to impale Sir Micheal in response. The knight cut through the Elder One’s bdes like butter, which fell to the ground with a loud series of cracks and cngs.

  Raising his arms in ecstatic eagerness, the Elder One tapped his feat for joy. “So it is you! Only you wield that bde. Arthur did entrust it to you, after all!” Regaining his composure, he shifted back to being threatening. “Even if that bde can kill an Elder One, it will be as useless as I am,” he decred, before charging at Sir Micheal. Rapidly closing the distance, the Elder One gave a flurry of blows to Sir Micheal. Instinctively, Sir Micheal deflected the blows, returning the Elder One with a stab of his bde. Unlike before, where he would have just absorbed the attack, the Elder One jumped out of the way of the sword before sucker-punching him in the jaw. As a result, Sir Micheal’s mask began morphing. The dark pit that made up the mask's terrifying smile opened up, revealing several yers of sharp teeth simir to jagged rocks. With quick vigor, the Elder One jumped back to avoid the mask, which was itself attempting to bite him.

  In both curiosity and intrigue, the Elder One observed the mask, as it nearly separated from Sir Micheal’s body. “Well, that’s a new trick. Did your mask come to life as part of its curse?” he asked in a somewhat taunting manner, despite being in too poor a position to defend against the possible repercussions. Sir Micheal said nothing, all he did was stride closer to the masked man without any signs of defense. He didn’t seem to care about the possibility of being attacked.

  “Still not going to talk to me? Fine then, die!” The masked Elder One yelled in a fit of determined fury before several hundred crimson strings surrounded him, enclosing around his body like a net. Noticing his predicament, the Elder One spoke with a criticizing tone. “Blood magic? This seems a little low, even for you.”

  “...” Still, Sir Micheal said nothing.

  “Oh, I know about these. A witch can sacrifice their own blood or someone else's in order to create weapons and traps for them to use. Strangely, I have no clue where these came from. The only people that I know of who can use such an ability are the Avian coven,” the masked man said. His words obviously angered Sir Micheal, because the crimson net around the Elder One’s body tightened ever so slightly.

  Closing the gap between them, Sir Micheal held out his bde and stabbed the masked man in the shoulder. Crying out in pain, he fell to the ground. The blood wrappings that bound him dissipated into seemingly thin air as he did, revealing that he was bleeding from his wound.

  Sir Micheal stood over him like an executioner, sword in hand. Looking up, the masked man stared in stupefaction. “It won’t work. It’s too te to save her,” Sir Micheal finally spoke. Strangely, his battle-hardened deep voice sounded less like an enemy and more like an old friend.

  “What do you know? The first thing out of your mouth since we started this fight and that’s what you have to say, you ass,” the Elder One muttered angrily.

  “...” Sir Micheal returned to saying nothing. Instead of speaking, he simply held his bde out toward him to signify that he was ready to continue fighting.

  “Fine, have it your way,” the Elder One excimed in a hate-filled roar as he lunged at Sir Micheal with the speed of an old man. Without any hesitation or mercy, Sir Micheal swung his bde, making a deep cut to his torso. The masked imitator colpsed to his knees against the cold stone bridge, like a sack of wet potatoes.

  “I-Inconceivable…” he sputtered out before he gave an overly dramatic st breath before Sir Micheal swung his bde again, beheading the masked figure. Blood pooled off from his wound and out onto the bridge in a trail, weaving its path between the cobblestone, leading into the now darkened canal below.

  Without a word, Sir Micheal returned his sword to its sheath, spun, and began sauntering back over the bridge from where he came. Iscariot, not wanting to miss the chance to speak, ran after Sir Micheal. “Micheal, is that really you?” he asked with a hopeful expression, contrasted by his scratchy voice.

  Sir Micheal stopped immediately and turned back to face the old sorcerer. His mask shifted to create a set of normal lips. “Been a while, Iscariot. How are you doing, old friend?” his voice sounded sad, but also overjoyed, as if he were on the verge of breaking down. The mask he wore, bore each word kindly, moving perfectly to his will.

  “Fairly well myself. You look great, though,” he replied with a comforting and kind voice, that of an old friend. Then returning to his usual mannerisms, he looked over at Scott, and then back at Sir Micheal. “Say… Would you mind healing the two idiots before you disappear again?”

  “Of course I would mind. You have a perfectly good witch with plenty of skill to do that. I don’t need to do that for her,” Sir Micheal said with a slight chuckle. Reaching out his hand, he took Iscariot’s hand and gave him a slight nod.

  With a simir chuckle, Iscariot squeezed his hand tight. “You’re an absolute bastard.” Letting go of the old sorcerer's hand, Sir Micheal turned around and continued over the bridge. The cnking of his metal shoes echoed throughout the streets in the same manner as when he entered, before coming to an abrupt silence, vanishing into the dense fog.

  Turning back to Scott, Iscariot rushed over to examine the state of his injuries since he was just lying face down on the cobblestone. Rolling him over onto his back, Iscariot checked to see if his heart was still beating. Thankfully, it was, so he gave a sigh of relief. Though, despite his relief, he wished that Elysif would get over here and heal him already. Then, he could go look for Lou. He couldn’t have gone that far, could he?

  Finally ying on his back, Scott groaned in pain. The act of which gave Iscariot some more room to breathe. Scott opened his eyes to view the old man and the cloudy night sky above him. “So you know Sir Micheal personally?” he asked. Each slight motion, along with every utterance, gave him a harsh stinging, burning pain in his chest and arms.

  With a quite reluctant and smug look, Iscariot smiled at Scott. Sitting beside him, there was a calmness that neither of them expected to feel after such a fight. Scott was still in a lot of pain, though. “You would be surprised at how many people I know, as well as who I know.”

  “So, what is he? That man can’t be human. I noticed at least two different forms of magic being utilized at once and without preparation,” Scott asked between gritted teeth. He knew that it was gonna hurt to ask, but he felt like he needed some kind of answer. It didn’t make any sense, and not knowing hurt worse than the broken bones and internal bleeding.

  Iscariot thought for a moment. It was strange for him to have to ponder such a simple question for so long. That said, he was getting up there in age. His memory could just be fleeting. Then his expression changed to a fairly disconcerting look. “I have no idea. All I can say is that he is powerful.”

  “I saw him. It was impressive,” Scott said with a loud groan. Following his groan was a series of pained coughs. “Oh, it hurts to cough,” he mumbled with an elongated groan.

  “How could you see any of that when you were face down in the dirt?” Iscariot asked curiously. He knew that Scott was facing away from the bridge when he was knocked down. At least, he seemed to be when he opened his eyes.

  “I could see it out of the corner of my eye. Now, where is Lou?” Scott crassly said. Between each word came a groan and wheeze. Despite his pain, Scott reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his fsk. Quickly taking it from him, Iscariot opened it and put it to his lips.

  With a thankful nod, Scott began to sip the contents. As he drank, Iscariot looked around with a dumbfounded look. Coming to a conclusion, he answered cautiously. “I think… he may have… floated down the canal. I haven’t seen him.”

  “Well, is he okay?” Scott asked with a worried expression, as he took the fsk away from Iscariot. Drinking the contents a bit faster than any doctor would recommend, Scott tried to rex as his belly warmed and his pain lessened ever so slightly.

  “Maybe. I was too busy keeping the barrier up to see. Who knows how far he was carried, and in what condition... Hell, he may have just run away. Elysif may know. Damn… where is that girl?” Iscariot stated with an annoyed huff, blowing off all the responsibility.

  “I have my fsk, so I’ll be fine. You go find Lou. Elysif can heal me up once she gets over here,” Scott said with a slightly less painful groan than before.

  Standing up, Iscariot gave Scott an accepting nod, before jogging down the side of the canal as well as the old man could. Leaving Scott alone, with no ability to move, and only his now half-empty fsk. All he could do was close his eyes and rest as much as possible. With his eyes shut, a wave of relief was cast over him, only to be interrupted as Elysif ran up to him.

  Stopping over top of Scott, Elysif pulled out a vial and dumped the contents all over his body. Scott clenched his teeth as the liquid sizzled like hot oil upon his doused clothing touching his skin. A salty aroma wafted off of him, like steam that burned both their nostrils. As the liquid soaked into his body, he felt the pain subside from his skin. All the bruises and fresh cuts on his body began fading as a result.

  Between clenched teeth, Scott hissed and cursed at everything in sight, writhing like a fish out of water. “Damnit Elysif, give me a little warning next time!” Scott yelled angrily once the pain completely subsided. He would gesture around for emphasis, but moving still hurt his insides too much.

  “A thank you would be appreciated. Now that the external stuff is dealt with, let me see what the internal damage is,” Elysif replied sassily, before feeling around his body. He winced in pain every time she touched him, and in almost every location that she felt, Elysif, realizing how badly injured he was, let out a frustrated sigh.

  With a pissed gre, Scott tried to sit up, only to seize up and y back down from the pain. The only thing he could do was give Elysif a spiteful look and say “You suck,” with a pissy attitude.

  Ignoring his unnecessary attitude, Elysif gave a soft but reluctant sigh, as she began looking through her bag. “Well, you have several broken ribs and a broken arm. There may be muscle and organ damage, but I will have to do a more thorough examination at the apartment. Until then, take this,” she said, before pulling a vial filled with dirty brown liquid from her bag and handing it to him.

  Taking the vial with a pained expression, he eyed the contents warily. “What is it?” Scott normally never questioned it when Elysif handed him something to drink after getting hurt, but the colour, as well as the consistency, made him question its safety and potability.

  “Same thing I just poured on you. It won’t heal your bones, but it should take care of the organ and muscle damage,” Elysif said as if the idea of drinking something that painful wasn’t awful.

  “Then why would I drink it? It burned like hell,” Scott retorted as he eyed the vial with intense fear and disgust. Yet, he didn’t throw it as a part of him knew he needed to drink it to stay alive.

  Putting her hands on her hips, Elysif raised an eyebrow and frowned at him. “Do you want to repair your damaged organs or not?” she asked with an overly sassy tone, which annoyed Scott to no end, and she knew it. It was the same way that Silva would act toward him when he wasn’t listening or being overly stubborn.

  “Fine,” Scott gave in with a disgusted groan, before popping the cork off the vial. In one rge gulp, he drank the contents and instantly cried out in pain. His yell was simir to that of a deep Wilhelm scream, combined with a coughing fit. It could even be compared to a dying moose.

  “Well, that’s what you get for fighting someone that powerful,” Elysif said with a shake of her head, as if she had told him that it was a bad idea earlier. Though she hadn’t said anything before, so it just made her sound like an ass.

  Finishing his yell with a loud cough, Scott turned to Elysif with tears streaming down his face. “No, it hasn’t kicked in yet. It just tasted like absolute ass,” he stated, as he desperately tried to get the contents of the vial off his taste buds. Downing a few more sips from his fsk in the process.

  “Just wait,” she said right as Scott curled up in a ball and shrieked at an unhinged and inhuman level. The sound of which could only be described as a warcry from death itself. Hearing and seeing his state in horror, Elysif clicked her tongue with a bemused look. “There it is.”

  *** Opening my eyes, I saw water. It spshed up onto my face, causing me to spit and curse in return. Damnit, Se! Every time I come back without feeling like I am falling, I end up waking up to some annoying shit. Looking up, I realized that my body had floated onto one of the sidewalls of the canal. Using every bit of strength that I had, I crawled up the short wall of the canal and id down onto the cobblestone road. My clothes were soaked, it was cold as hell, and I felt like shit. Thankfully, my body had already healed, but a headache began to form along with my built-up fatigue. As I y there, I couldn’t help but wonder if we had truly won. I couldn’t possibly know the answer from where I was, though. That is, until I saw Iscariot’s old decrepit body jogging toward me, his mage cloak fpping in the cold night air. Stopping a meter or so before me, he fell to his knees where he began coughing and wheezing from a ck of breath.

  “I need to get in better shape,” Iscariot said to himself between long deep breaths. Looking at the state I was in, he nodded with a satisfied look. Whether he was gd I wasn’t dead or whether he was just satisfied that I could walk back without help was a mystery to me.

  Refusing to get up from where I y, the headache I had made the idea of standing sickening for the moment. All I could do was roll ever so slightly to look at Iscariot. “Did we win?” I asked with a tired groan.

  “Well, you seem fine; and yes, we won,” Iscariot replied as if it were obvious. The sass emanating from this old, out-of-shape man annoyed me to no end, but arguing with him would only make my headache worse.

  “Don’t be so sassy with me. I am in a lot of pain,” I snapped harshly. Then I remembered the state that Scott was left in when I passed out.. “Speaking of which, how is Scott?”

  “He is in a lot of pain too, but Elysif should be taking care of him now,” Iscariot replied, either forgiving my attitude or ignoring it.

  Sitting up with a tired grunt, I gave Iscariot a look as though he should be empathetic to anyone whom Elysif heals. That said, Scott would probably have died otherwise. “Good, then I better get over there.”

  Iscariot helped me up and the two of us walked back toward Scott and Elysif. My clothes dripped considerably as we did. It was annoying, as the damp clothes stuck to my skin, causing me to slowly chaff in areas that no one wants to chaff in. As we arrived, Iscariot and I found that they were in a very strange set of circumstances, where Scott was writhing on the ground in obvious pain while Elysif stood above him as if she were taking notes on the effects. I was starting to think that Elysif was even more sadistic than I'd thought. She would be the type of person who would poke a dead body with a stick for fun.

  “Is he okay?” I asked cautiously as we approached. Elysif turned towards me with a gratefully happy expression.

  “He’s fine, the medicine is just taking a bit longer to work through his system, is all. He'll be in pain for the next few minutes, but it will heal up his organ damage. The broken bones are a separate issue,” Elysif replied, looking back at Scott who was currently hissing through his teeth in the fetal position.

  “Oh, I see… Where is the masked man?” I asked, realizing that I had yet to see a corpse.

  “Over there,” she answered as she pointed at the bridge. A trail of blood seeped down the edge of the bridge and into the canal but I couldn’t see a body. He may be dead but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Wandering onto the bridge, I couldn’t believe it. Before me were the decapitated remains of the masked man.

  All I could do was stand above his corpse before finally lifting the mask from his head. I just wanted to see what he looked like underneath the mask. Just who was it that wanted to use me so badly and tortured me for weeks? I found that it was the face of an old man. He had tears staining his cheeks and his wrinkled skin was cold and rubbery, as if he had been dead for a while. All the hair on his face was white and looked as if it hadn’t been trimmed in months.

  On the backside of the mask, though, I noticed something. A set of runes or sigils, perhaps? Nothing else, though. “Hey, Iscariot. What do these runes mean?” I asked, throwing him the mask. With a poor excuse of an attempt, he barely caught it, studied it for a moment, and his eyes grew wide.

  “This marking is nicknamed the puppet master. It allows one to control a body, living or dead, from anywhere. There is also a transference rune in here, which allows someone with the same rune to trade pces with the person who has this rune,” Iscariot answered whilst shaking the mask as if it were an eviction notice. In a disgruntled manner, he sat down against the wall of a building.

  “Which means someone else was controlling the person we were fighting this whole time… or possibly switched with the old guy before getting killed,” Elysif added with a disappointing realization.

  Upon her saying this, Scott sat up slowly but without pain. Without any hesitation or self-control, he drank some of the contents of his fsk before speaking. “Great, so we aren’t done.” His tone and expression made him seem far better than he did a second ago. Though, with that kind of pain, anything would have been an improvement.

  “Oh good, the medicine has finally finished working,” I said, ignoring his statement out of the hope that if I didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t come to pass. Scott gave me an annoyed look.

  “Hey, fuck you,” Scott said to me before taking another swig from his fsk.

  “Hey, I got my ass kicked too,” I said as if that were something to be proud of. The only thing it did though was make Elysif snicker at me. She knew I had been beaten to hell but I could heal myself so she found my comment rather humourous despite it not being funny.

  “Yeah, but all your wounds are healed, while I have several broken bones that will have to heal naturally,” Scott replied angrily.

  “Sucks to be you,” I replied with a monotone voice that sent Scott over the edge. However, he couldn't do anything about it, because he was at least two meters from me with various bone injuries.

  “Don’t talk to your superior like that,” Scott yelled before taking another swig of his fsk with a more dramatic fir.

  “He is right, though,” Elysif said, agreeing with me. Iscariot shook his head. Mainly, he did so due to the fact that he didn’t see the fight itself, and saw that I was basically unhurt.

  Scott gave Elysif a shocked and betrayed look. “Not you too, Elysif?” Though his expression quickly shifted to that of someone having an epiphany. “Actually, you have always been an ass, so never mind,” Scott said, finishing his train of thought before letting out a defeated sigh.

  After we finished our little conversation, Iscariot held the mask up. “So what do you have to say? I know you can speak through this mask still,” Iscariot asked the mask itself with a satisfyingly smug voice. We had no idea what he was talking about but we all looked at the mask he held in anticipation.

  “... I guess you are much smarter than I first thought. However, had Sir Micheal not appeared, all but the time lord would be dead and I would have forced him to take me back in time already.” The mask said in a detestable voice that reminded me of an old 1960s radio voice-over.

  “So are you going to come after us or are you just going to send more puppets?” I asked in a threatening voice despite being terrified of knowing the answer.

  “I am not sure yet, but I can assure you that your lives will not be easy from here on out,” the mask stated with an equally threatening tone. Unlike my own, his voice had no sign of fear or regret embedded within.

  “As if it were easy before,” Scott replied with a haughty expression.

  “Well, if you know of hell, then you are about to meet the devil. You should expect something soon,” the voice said before a rge crack split down the center of the mask. Continuing like a tree branch, the crack spread out over the entirety of the mask, which came crumbling out of Iscariot’s hand in a thousand tiny pieces.

  We were all silent. None of us had any idea what our next step was gonna be. We were just waiting again, waiting for anything to happen. The feeling of anticipation ached, and it seemed like everyone else felt the same. We were useless in the fight and we had to rely on someone that was considered an enemy of the Table to clean up our mess. How exactly were we going to get out of another attack alive? I sure as hell didn’t know.

  “We should probably just go home for now,” Elysif finally said to break the silence. All of us just nodded in agreement.

  Seeing all of our reactions, Scott looked back and forth between each of us as if searching for something. “Now, will one of you help me up? I may be hurting with broken bones, but both my legs are fine… somehow.”

  “Sure,” I said, helping him to his feet. Once he was standing, Scott held his left arm at a ninety-degree angle with his right hand and the four of us began heading back home.

  “Wait, what about the body? We can’t just leave it there” Iscariot asked. He had a good point, so we stopped and pondered our options.

  “Chuck it in the canal. Nature will do its thing,” Scott replied without a care in the world.

  “Seems a little disrespectful,” Elysif noted. I wasn’t for being disrespectful of the dead but this corpse was different. It could be buried in shit for all I cared, so I charged over to the body to throw it in the canal myself.

  “Says the girl who dissects people all the time,” Scott replied jokingly, not realizing that I had wandered off.

  Elysif, also unaware that I was currently assessing how best to lift the body without drenching my already wet clothes in blood, gave Scott an angry look. “It is a medical examination, and it is for science!” It was obvious that that comment got on her nerves, but Scott wore a smug grin that he was trying to hide from her by sipping on his fsk.

  “And isn’t the circle of life part of Science?” Scott asked, trying to push her a bit more. This time, instead of getting mad, she pondered his remark. Iscariot also pondered this, but was distracted by me throwing the man's head like a basketball free-throw into the canal. Scott and Elysif, on the other hand, were still blissfully unaware of my current actions, so I began to lift up the body.

  “I can’t really argue that,” she finally replied to Scott’s remark, accepting his logic.

  “Good, now chuck it in the canal… and let’s go home. I’m tired and I still need my broken bones looked at,” Scott said with a spoiled groan, before he and Elysif turned just in time to see me awkwardly heave the headless body into the river. I have to say that it is much harder to pick up a body when it is dead. It was like if you were to pick someone up, but instead of them helping you by taking some of the weight, they just go full dead fish and give you all the weight.

  Turning back around, Scott gave Elysif and Iscariot a satisfied look. “Well, now that that is taken care of, let’s go home.”

  Once we got home, Scott got properly bandaged up with a splint and sling for his left arm, and we all went to bed for the night. Turns out that Scott had several broken bones in his left arm and ribcage. His right hand also had a fracture, but not anywhere that would hinder common use. He just couldn’t punch anything for a while.

  Since Scott was out of commission for a while, I had to give the full written report to the Table. It wasn’t an easy report as I had to expin everything that happened, especially since I had to tell them how we may have started a war with an Elder One. Scott had also warned me to be careful about mentioning that Sir Micheal was there. I never really saw him, so there was no reason for me to mention it. The difficult part was getting it to the Table. Since mailing it would take too long, I took the train to Warwick to deliver the report myself, and hopefully stock up on ammunition.

  “Okay, you got this,” I said to myself as I marched into the Table's main room. The giant circur room with various hallways connected to it glowed in its unnatural blue hue. Mordred was talking to a few agents whom I had never seen before, near the hallway leading to her and Merlin’s office. Upon finishing her conversation with them, Mordred turned to me with a surprised look. I guess that she hadn’t expected me back for a while.

  “So, I heard from Iscariot that there was an issue with the one known in the papers as Jack the Ripper?” Mordred asked before I could say anything.

  “To say the least,” I replied honestly. It was far more difficult than just an issue.

  “What happened? If Scott’s not here, then I assume that he was injured, or perhaps he just didn’t want to come here himself. He never could stand the train,” Mordred asked with an interestingly tired look. Her attire, which currently looked simir to Elysif’s style of clothing. was pinly with brown pants and a white button-up, was a bit dishevelled, but clean.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had come up with an excuse just to not ride on the train again, but Scott was in fact, heavily injured,” I replied honestly. For a moment, Mordred didn’t believe me, but she quickly realized that I was telling the truth. Thus, causing her to give me a very confused expression, as she began rubbing her chin in thought.

  “How could he have been injured, as powerful as he is?” The expression on her face only seemed to grow more confused with every word, as she tried desperately to rationalize it.

  “An Elder One kicked our asses,” I replied, which turned her confusion into startling shock.

  Finally rationalizing the situation in her head, Mordred understood that we would have barely stood a chance. “An Elder One you say? That would expin how he was injured.” Putting one hand on her hip, she returned to rubbing her chin, immersed in thought, with her other hand. “Do you know which Elder One it was that you fought?” Mordred asked, finally coming to terms with the situation.

  “We believe that it may have been Freya from Norse mythology, but we aren’t entirely sure,” I answered with what Se had told me earlier. It was probably the closest we could come to figuring out who the Elder One was.

  “That is disturbing,” Mordred said, before crossing her arms and rubbing her chin. She seemed to be deep in thought about this information. For what reason, I did not know.

  “How so?” I asked curiously. The idea of an Elder One on the loose was scary, but her voice seemed less worried and more specutive of my answer. There was something else going on in her thought process.

  “Freya was the one who crafted all of the swords for the knights of the round table. We all knew of her as the Lady of the Lake,” Mordred replied. That had come up before, but now, I was hearing it from a first-hand witness, so it had to be fairly true.

  “But, someone inherited her power, right?”

  Mordred seemed to be pondering this question herself, as she gave me an unsure look, “That power was supposed to be inherited by Merlin, since he was closest to her, but since he already had the abilities of his mother, Helen of Troy, he couldn’t have another. It seemed as if the power had vanished entirely,” Mordred said with an interested and thoughtful look.

  “So we don’t know who inherited it?”

  “Nobody knows. We have no idea how the inheritance process works, and neither do the Elder Ones. Some can pass their powers down to their children while they are alive, and others will seemingly disappear out of existence or appear again at random,” Mordred expined with a saddened demeanour. Leading me over to a bench, she sat down, so I sat down as well, honestly worn out from the past month of constant pain and stress.

  “So even now, we can’t figure out who it was that attacked us?” I asked with a defeated sigh. My back leaned up against the wall in an uncomfortable position for my neck. However, it made me wish that I had some time to finally rex.

  “All you can do is wait... though we have some news you may want to hear. After your encounter with the dwarf named Rubin Reuben, we sent some agents to talk with him. They found all of the Willowisps missing, and the dwarf impaled on a pike within his library,” Mordred said with a heartfelt tone to change the subject. Though this was not a better topic at all. The Elder One had told me that Rubin was dead, but I didn’t want to believe it.

  “That doesn’t seem like good news to me,” I replied, wishing that she had told me something to cheer me up.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be. I am simply telling you the truth. We are sorry that he is dead, but we were able to take his entire library into our possession.” She seemed a tad bit smug as she said it, but I could tell that she cared despite having a hard time showing it.

  “Seems a little rude to take all of his stuff, doesn’t it?” I asked, as it felt wrong to me. Plus, what were they going to do with all his stuff? Sell it?

  “Yes. Though it will also aid us, he wasn’t going to be using it anymore anyways. You may have heard that we are low on funds. It’s why Scott was the only Agent in all of London until recently, so we could use all the help we can get. I’m personally hoping there’s an ancient alchemy spell for turning items into gold among them,” Mordred said, before her stomach growled loudly for an uncomfortably long four seconds.

  “Are you okay?” I asked out of concern for her health, as the loud groaning that emanated from her stomach didn’t sound good.

  Holding her stomach whilst leaning forward, Mordred gave me an awkward and semi-pained chuckle. “I’m fine. I just haven’t eaten in several days because we’ve had to make a few budget cuts within the past few weeks.”

  With a frankly concerned look, I turned to her. “You need to eat something! I’ll even pay for it, just don’t starve yourself,” I said in a forceful manner, as I didn’t want her to keel over and die.

  Mordred gave me a thankful look. “You are a saint,” she said, trying not to tear up as it seemed that she wasn’t expecting to eat at all for another few days.

  She seemed a lot happier once I mentioned feeding her, but what she said about Scott raised my curiosity. Scott had already discussed it before, but he never truly expined anything in detail about the Table and how it functioned. “I do have one question about your statement involving Scott being the only Agent in London. What about Iscariot and Elysif, aren’t they technically agents of the Table?”

  As if remembering some past trauma, Mordred sat silently for a second before answering. “Iscariot is more or less on our watchlist, so Scott is making sure he stays out of trouble. As for Elysif, she does work on the side, and is mainly supported through Scott’s funding and by selling medicine, from what I know. She is not an official agent.”

  “Why does Scott fund Elysif, then, if she isn’t an agent?” I asked with a curious look.

  “Elysif is technically Scott’s adopted sister-in-w. Scott’s wife, Silva, had a habit of taking in children and convincing Director Langston to adopt them. Director Compton, Scott, and Elysif were adopted into the family. However, Compton’s case was… a little different, as the Director had already taken him in before adopting him at Silva’s request,” Mordred expined. I had a vague idea already about them having a family dynamic, so it wasn’t all that hard to believe. However, this information gave me a new image of Scott’s wife. The thought of her just finding kids and getting her father to adopt them was mildly amusing and a tad bit concerning.

  “Okay, I think I get it now,” I replied, as it all started to make more and more sense to me. Nothing was said between us for a moment, causing an uncomfortable silence that was broken only by the sound of various footsteps around us and in the hallways.

  “Before I forget, how did you and Scott manage to defeat someone with an Elder One's power?” Mordred asked. Although she was asking innocently, it felt like I was being interrogated. Her demeanor was threatening, despite her being calm and simply curious. Perhaps, it was due to her history on the battlefield? Either way, not telling her the truth felt wrong for some reason. Whether it was out of respect, guilt, or honor is unknown to me.

  “We… didn’t,” I answered, as small beads of sweat began to form on my brow. I’m so sorry, Scott. Mordred looks like she wants to know, and I feel like I need to answer honestly. Whatever was causing this commitment to truth would probably bite me in the ass, but whatever.

  “Excuse me? How did you survive then?” Mordred asked curiously, as she didn’t expect most people to survive a fight against an Elder One. In fact, the way I answered only made her more suspicious that something else may have happened.

  “Well… Sir Micheal showed up and killed him within a few minutes,” I answered rapidly with a tinge of fear. Mordred just stared at me with cold eyes. She didn’t say anything, but strangely, I felt as if she was about to explode. Leaning forward, she pced her hands over her face, and rubbed them up and down as if she had just woken up after a strange dream.

  Lifting her head after a few seconds, she turned back to me. “Did you see him?” she asked kindly, as if she wasn’t about to explode as Scott had warned.

  “What?” I replied, unsure of what she meant.

  “Did. You. See. Him?” she repeated, getting as close to me as she could to say it. This time, far more threatening than before. She was practically on top of me as she asked. Was there no definition of personal space in her mind?

  “No, I was unconscious in a canal when he showed up,” I replied honestly. She was getting too close for comfort and I didn't feel like getting hurt today. I had had enough beatings recently to st a lifetime.

  “Then who saw him?” she asked with an eager gre, her eyes practically touching my own. Disturbingly, her gaze felt as if it were peering into my soul. Was she using magic to make me tell the truth? I didn’t know, and asking would probably not be wise.

  “Iscariot and Scott. They told me about him when I woke up,” I replied, hoping that she would back away from me. Sadly, she only slunk back slightly.

  “Did he wield a purple-ish sword?” she asked with even more eager eyes. For some reason, it felt like there was more admiration for the knight than hatred in her question.

  “Uh, yes, and he also had glowing purple armor on his forearms and lower legs according to what Scott told me,” I continued expining, as my fears of her began to slowly increase.

  Hearing my answer, Mordred sat back against the bench, giving me some space. “So it is him,” she said to herself, before standing up and calling over one of the agents in the room who looked to be busy delivering some items, ”Go fetch Merlin, and tell him it’s urgent.”

  “But Merlin is currently in the study hall helping sort through the books collected from the dwarven Sorcerer’s home. He requested not to be disturbed,” the agent replied with an inquisitive tone.

  “Did I stutter? Fetch him, now!” Mordred replied with a stern but otherwise calm voice. Her rexed figure combined with her naturally threatening aura caused the agent to run off, looking quite frightened.

  Turning back to me, she gave me an earnest smile. Though it was neither from joy, nor pleasure, but out of something else that I could not identify. Obsession, perhaps? “Now, Mr. Barrett, I will be accompanying you on your return to London, so that I may speak with Scott directly. Is there anything you need while you are here?”

  “Just a few more silver and iron bullets will do,” I said with a vaguely distraught look, before standing up.

  “Good. Why don’t you go take care of that while I wait for Merlin?” she offered with a strangely comforting tone, that confused my meager ability to understand social cues and emotions. Mordred in particur was an enigma at this point, since her emotions, aura, and mannerisms conflicted in every way that they were shown, befuddling me to no end. So I just gave a nod of agreement and hurried on my way.

  Returning around ten minutes ter, with my pockets now containing a few boxes of bullets, I arrived at the same time as Merlin, who had rge dark bags under his eyes. Wrapped in a rge bnket, Merlin wore nothing else. In his hand, as if he had forgotten that it was there, was an old book. His body seemed to be teetering from side to side, as if he were about to colpse from exhaustion. Had he not slept in days? “What is it, Mordred? You know I am busy at the moment,” he asked with an exasperated sigh that was followed by a long yawn.

  “I understand, but I thought I would let you know that I am taking my leave to London, so you will have to take control for a day or two,” Mordred replied, doing her best to not leave any room for debate.

  “Wait a moment. Please tell me that this doesn’t have anything to do with Sir Micheal. Also, I am up to my waist in books that need to be sorted. I don’t have time to look after the whole Table while you’re away!” Merlin compined with a tired and frustrated expression.

  “It does in fact have to do with Sir Micheal, but all I am doing is following up on a lead. You’ll be fine for a day or two without me,” Mordred said, before patting him on his shoulder. He looked a bit confused by this gesture due to being so tired, but accepted it nonetheless.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you stopped thinking about that man?” Merlin asked. Mordred gave him a gre that I had never seen on anyone before, and I definitely didn’t believe I would ever see it on Mordred’s face. It was one of pure blind rage. She wasn’t entirely sane, not in the slightest! Strangely, I think that Merlin knew this already.

  “Did you forget what he did? How he killed my father, your friend. He lied to us, to me, and made us think he was an ally,” Mordred said in a dictatorial voice.

  “I just think we need to focus on the Table for now and not on Micheal—” Merlin started to say before being interrupted.

  “Please do not try and reason with me on this. I do not doubt that it is him, so I am doing what I need to in order to protect the table from him,” Mordred stated with a threatening tone. Merlin, knowing that there was no reasoning with her on this matter, quickly backed off and decided to let her do what she wanted.

  “Alright then, do whatever you must. I will do my best to take care of things here,” Merlin said with a gracious, yet exhausted manner, before meandering back from whence he came.

  “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Mordred said, as she turned to me. I wasn’t sure how to respond to her. Scott was right about Sir Micheal being a touchy subject.

  “No, it’s fine. Shall we head to London, then?” I asked, hoping to not set off any emotional ndmines.

  “Yes, of course,” Mordred replied, before escorting me to the exit.