The Pulver Chronicles – 11. What Breaks The Silence

Crouching against the stone fence, Jackson was tapping his fingers on the street floor, both out of impatience and nervousness. He looked around the street again, but it was still as empty as it was ten seconds ago. Grumbling, he picked up a pebble and threw it in the air a couple of times; he failed to catch it the fifth time, and did not pick it back up.

“You seriously need to calm down,” Byron said. “This mission is important.”

“Yeah? Maybe I can’t calm down because it’s important.”

Before Byron could respond to that, Jowallan appeared. They were dressed all in black, as per usual, and had added a black band over their eyes, hiding them seemingly without altering the Cambion’s sight. No doubt two red eyes would have been too visible even in the dark.

“Are you ready?”

“Yup,” Jackson said, jumping on his feet. “Do your thing.”

Jowallan did. There was no sound or visual effect, but, a second later, Jackson instinctively knew they were now both invisible. He stood against the stone fence, joining his hands, ready to boost Jowallan up. The Cambion proved a lot lighter than he expected. They kneeled on top of the fence, and helped Jackson up. From the fence, they quickly jumped on one of the oak tree’s bigger branches. As planned, the thick foliage provided excellent concealment, especially with the sun going down.

They waited, moving as little as possible, for the guard to pass right beneath them, then continue his tour of the mansion. Jowallan dropped on the floor without a sound, Jackson not so much. The duo approached one of the ground floor’s window. Jowallan placed their hands on it, and did something which Jackson didn’t catch. The window opened slowly, allowing them to enter.

The room was a kitchen. A large wooden table was placed in the center, covered in crumbs and other remains; a big knife laid on top of a cutting board. An array of pots and pans were stored in an open cupboard. The hearth of a large chimney was embedded in the wall opposite the window. Traces of soot soiled the floor; their circular shapes indicated they had been hastily swept. Jackson opened the door to the main hall, and did a quick survey. A few servants came and went, finishing their evening tasks. Four armed men stood near the main door; it was apparently the changing of the guard.

“You ready?” Jackson whispered back to Jowallan.

The Cambion nodded, then they both walked into the main hall, stepping carefully. Jackson kept glancing at his feet as he advanced. He knew that while Jowallan’s spell made them invisible, all he had to do was bump into something -or worse: someone- and they would be made. In addition, although the sounds they themselves made were either silenced or muffled, those made by other objects remained mostly unaffected.

The main hall was two floors high, and at its center was a large flight of stairs made out of lacquered wood. Jackson’s adrenaline levels bumped up a notch when he climbed the first step and it creaked under his weight. Thankfully, nobody around seemed to pay it any mind. He still decided to walk even slower, and it took him and Jowallan almost three minutes to reach the second floor.

Jackson took the plan out of his pocket to look at it again. The master bedroom was the last door on their right, and the office was almost right in front of them. He assumed Jowallan had gathered that information by spying through the windows from the nearby roofs. They’d make a damn good robber. Or a spy.

A spy… A thought came to Jackson’s mind. He remembered the ring, and how it seemingly came to him in a dream. Jowallan had shown him how Cambions’ powers could affect others’ perceptions. In fact, they had put Jackson to sleep using one of those powers… right after they mentioned that the Cambions had made the shadows their home. The shadows!… How more obvious could they have made it? Jowallan must have had given Jackson that weird dream, then slipped the ring around his finger while he was sleeping.

But… no. That made no sense. Why would they do that? And why would they keep hanging around Jackson after the fact? Did they think Jackson would be too stupid to put two and two together? Unless… Unless they expected him to figure it out, for some reason?

“What’s wrong?”

Jackson nearly jumped. Jowallan was staring at him. Looking around him, he realized he had stood completely still for a moment, so deep in thought he had temporarily forgotten where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Silently chastising himself, he moved to the office’s door without answering. Locked. Jowallan worked their -literal- magic once again, and it gave away without a sound.

The office’s decoration was the definition of excessive. The walls were almost completely obfuscated by draperies and paintings, and a thick carpet covered most of the floor. Jackson had very little knowledge of interior decorating, but even he could tell the colors were all wrong, clashing with each other and not following any particular code. The various valuables looked more like loot stored there without concern for how gaudy and chaotic it looked. Jackson compared the place to a pirate captain’s cabin.

There was a massive desk near the large window, opposite the door. Said window was flanked by two large bookcases, filled with volumes and tomes. Jackson approached the desk, while Jowallan studied the books. He first looked at the piece of paper sitting on top of it. It was an unfinished letter, two paragraphs long. A pen was laying on top of it, and there was an inkwell close by. Jackson glanced at its contents, and quickly gave up when he realized it was some kind of trade document, discussing the future sale of a certain quantity of fish and the conditions of shipping.

The young man began going through the drawers, while Jowallan browsed the books. From what Jackson could see of their contents, it was mostly accounting notes, heavily on the numbers’ side. The desk’s drawers contained, perhaps predictably, writing materials: paper, inkwells, pens… There were a few coins here and there. Some were familiar to Jackson, some were not. On a hunch, he grabbed one of them and showed it to Jowallan.

“Hey, do you know what this is?”

“It’s a nial,” Jowallan said after a quick glance. “The currency used in the Hexacracy.”

“Otzando’s got hexacrat money, huh?”

“That’s to be expected. The merchants and Prince Merchants of this city do a lot of trade with them -it is their closest neighbor, after all.”

“Oh,” Jackson said, before throwing the coin back where he found it. No conspiracy there, then.

He riffled through a few papers -most of them blank-, and found some pieces of cake in a metal box. Ultimately, nothing caught his interest. Byron, who had also been checking from above his shoulder, agreed that what they were looking for wasn’t here.

“Yeah, I got nothing here,” Jackson told Jowallan. “You?”

“Well… maybe.”

Jackson went to look over the Cambion’s shoulder. They were reading some ledger, containing information about Otzando’s riches.

“The Lionfish seems to have gotten quite a lot richer, recently, judging by some of his acquisitions. Yet, I can’t find where he’s got that money from. There are no transactions, no orders that could account for so much. It’s like he prayed at a coral altar, and the coin simply washed ashore.”

“That’s interesting. Can you find out more?”

“Not from these books,” they said, gesturing at the shelves. “He must have kept some records, though. Some traces of how he obtained those riches.”

“Maybe in his bedroom?”

Jowallan thought about it for a second, then acquiesced. They took extra care to put the book they were reading back in the exact same spot, then headed out. The master bedroom’s door was, unsurprisingly, locked, but once again it was nothing Jowallan’s skills couldn’t handle.

If the office was ostentatious in its decor, the bedroom was a monument to pretentiousness. Every single piece of furniture was painted gold, even the chairs and the footrest. The poster bed was so big and large it bordered on farcical. There was a marble statue of a nude woman in front of it. Jackson mused that Otzando was likely the only one other than his servants to ever enter this room, and as such he probably didn’t care whether the place fitted any tastes but his.

There were also a few bookshelves here. By their titles, Jackson guessed they were novels, collections of poetries, and philosophical treatises. He rolled his eyes in boredom, and went to inspect the enormous chest that sat at the bottom of a wall, on the right side of the bed. It was over three feet high, and almost five in width. The wood it was made of was also painted gold. Jackson tried to open it, but, predictably, it was locked tight. He caught Jowallan’s attention and asked him to open it.

“There is no lock to pick,” the Cambion said.

Jackson looked at the chest again, and saw that Jowallan was right. It had no visible lock or latch. Just like that box, Jackson thought. This made him all the more anxious to open the chest, as it was now obvious to him that whatever was inside was very valuable, or very secret, possibly both. He tried to lift it to get an idea of its content’s weight, but realized it was stuck to the floor. Even pushing or dragging it was impossible. Inspecting its bottom, Jackson noticed some kind of solidified paste connecting the chest to the floor; some kind of glue, or maybe a mortar. Was it a deterrent against theft, Jackson wondered?

“There’s got to be some kind of mechanism,” he said. “Let’s try… pulling on stuff.”

They divided the room in two halves, and each went to carefully inspect one. Jackson chose the left side. He began by the bookshelves, drawing every single book in the hopes of finding some kind of secret lever, like in the movies. No such luck, however: the books were merely books.

“Try the candlesticks,” Byron suggested, pointing at the walls.

The young man did so. In his nervousness, he pulled on one so hard the candle came loose and dropped on the floor. He picked it up with a swear, and tried to put it back as it was. He pulled the second candlestick with a lot more care, but it remained immobile. The third candlestick, however, was a little loose, though it didn’t give away when pulled. After a few attempts, Jackson tried to move it to the left, then to the right. The latter did the trick: the candlestick leaned, and a clicking sound was heard. Jackson almost let out a joyful exclamation when he looked at the chest again, and noticed the lid was now slightly ajar.

“Nicely done,” Jowallan said, opening the chest wide.

Jackson couldn’t retain a grunt of confusion as he took a look inside. The chest didn’t contain any coin, or jewelry, or gold ingots, or expensive materials. In fact, it didn’t contain anything, not even a bottom. Beneath it was a tunnel. It was at least ten feet deep, and far too dark to see its other end. It was built in a slight diagonal; Jackson guessed it was hidden inside the first floor’s wall. There was no ladder.

“Hope you’ve got some rope, ‘cause I’m not jumping down there,” Jackson said.

They did. One end of the rope was tied to the feet of the bed, which was deemed heavy enough to bear both of their weights. Jowallan volunteered to go down first, despite the darkness. Jackson suggested grabbing one of the candles and lighting it, but the Cambion declined.

“It will not be necessary,” they simply said.

The tunnel was tight; Jackson bumped his shoulders, his elbows, and his knees repeatedly before he finally reached the ground. The light died slowly around him as he descended. Soon, it was completely dark. Jackson raised his hands to get a feel of his surroundings, accidentally poking one of Jowallan’s horns as he did.

“Ow. Sorry. Where are we?”

“It looks like a tunnel,” Jowallan said.

“You can see in the dark? I should have guessed.”

“Put your hand on my shoulder and follow me. I’ll guide you.”

Jackson gripped the Cambion’s shoulder like a vice. The darkness reminded him once again of that dream a few nights ago. As soon as this is over, I’ll have some questions for you, buddy.

Jowallan walked slowly, telling Jackson when to turn left or right. Jackson’s free hand ran along the wall; it was made out of bricks, covered in a thin layer of dust. They walked for maybe a few minutes when Jowallan stopped, so suddenly the young man knocked his head in the back of the Cambion’s.

“Where are we?” Jackson said.

“In a room. I can see furniture around.”

“Can we turn on a light, now?”

The Cambion said nothing, but, moments later, Jackson heard a click, and saw a tiny flame appear. It was some sort of lighter, with which Jowallan lit up a candle on a desk, then two more on a shelf. They continued to light more candles until Jackson could finally discern the room around him.

The room was smaller than the office. Its walls were of rough stone, with several beams to hold the ceiling. It was cold and damp, and Jackson regretted not bringing his cape. There was another desk, here, covered in papers. Next to it was a safe, about one and a half feet tall and wide. Finally, occupying the center of the room was a large cubic object, entirely covered by a black tarp. It was almost as high as the room, and perhaps five feet large. Jackson focused on that object, looking at it from all angles and trying to guess its nature. Of course, he could have just pulled the tarp and see for himself, but a voice in his head -not Byron’s, for once- told him that tarp might have been here for a reason.

Jowallan, meanwhile, was trying his hand at the safe. They palpated the door, brushed his outline, then knocked lightly on its corners. Nothing seemed to happen. Jackson saw the Cambion tighten his claws in annoyance.

“Can’t open it? Maybe the safe is magical,” Jackson suggested.

“Yes,” Jowallan simply said.

They stood up, massaging their throat with one hand, their red eyes nothing but slits. After a few seconds of silent pondering, they said:

“Cambion magic.”

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up.

“On the safe? Are you sure?”

Jowallan nodded sharply.

“Well, can you dispel it?”

“I’m not quite sure what spell was used. It is… a very unusual form of our magic.”

Unusual? Jackson thought. Like…

“Like the kind they’d teach in the Hexacracy?” Jackson said with apprehension.

“Very possibly.”

“Wait… Wait a second,” the young man said, glancing alternatively at the safe and at the large cubic object. “You think Otzando’s got a Cambion?”

A cage. That thing under the tarp had to be a cage, Jackson deduced. He looked at Jowallan again, who wordlessly nodded his agreement. The two of them grabbed the tarp, and, on the Cambion’s signal, started pulling hard. This proved harder that Jackson anticipated; the material was several inches thick and surprisingly heavy, and it felt oddly hot to the touch.

After a minute of effort, the tarp finally came down. What it revealed was indeed a cage, big enough to detain a Human -or rather, a Humanoid. The bars were quite thick, a bit more than an arm, and both the floor and the ceiling had been reinforced, to the point that a man the size of Jackson wouldn’t have been able to stand properly in it.

Prostrated in a corner, their arms rolled around their folded legs, was a Cambion. They looked much scrawnier than Jowallan, to the point where they had a skeletal silhouette. Their face was all sharp lines and edges, and only three horns poked out of their head. Jackson could see a stump where the fourth one had been; from how clean it looked, he guessed the horn had been cut off.

As Jackson got closer to the prisoner, his chest tightened. That broken horn was not their only wound. Several scars covered their jet-black skin where they had evidently been cut, pierced, slashed, or even perforated. One of their claws, on the left index finger, was missing entirely, along with a piece of the phalanx. The only part of their body that hadn’t been harmed or otherwise tampered with, it seemed, were the eyes. They were opened wide, as round as saucers, and fixated on the center of the cell.

In said center burned a bright, white flame. By the way it floated one inch over the floor, and from the fact that it emitted no smoke, Jackson immediately understood this was one of those magic flames he had seen before, back at the Necromant’s tower and in that House of the Living Flame. The color was different, however, and from the way the captive was staring at it -unblinkingly, his eyes vacant-, Jackson realized it wasn’t just there for lightning.

“What the fuck is this?” he whispered.

“It’s a Starklight,” Jowallan said, their voice strained. Jackson noticed the Cambion was making visible efforts not to look at it directly.

“What’s it doing to them? They look… Jesus, they look like Hell.”

“It’s draining their powers. While it’s lit, there’s not a hint of shadow in this cage.”

“I’m guessing it doesn’t let them have much sleep, either,” Jackson said. “Okay, we need to get them out. How do we kill that flame?”

“I don’t know,” Jowallan said. “My own powers are useless against it. I can feel it weakening me, too.”

Jackson mentally reviewed a few solutions, from stomping on it to using the tarp to extinguish it. He had an inkling this would only result in a bigger fire, and possibly some burn wounds. This was no normal flame; even water might not work on it.

“Let’s just get him out of here,” he finally said. “Can you open that cage?”

“No… My powers are too weak for even that,” the Cambion said.

“How about forcing it open? If that doesn’t work, there’s got to be… Yeah, here.”

He pointed at a couple of hinges.

“Gotta be a way to pop them out or something.”

The young man drew his sword.

“Please tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do with this,” Byron said.

“I’m going to use it to break open the door,” Jackson thought-said. “Or mess up the hinges, I don’t know.”

“You’re going to damage your sword. That’s not what it’s for.”

“Okay, then you come up with something better. And remember we’re kinda in a hurry.”

Byron inspected the room, then blew air out of his nose.

“Right,” he simply said.

“I can always get another sword.”

“Fine, fine, just…” He waved Jackson off.

From experience, Jackson knew that breaking open a door was much harder than it looked on TV. He had had to do it once, during his youth, when his uncle Jared passed out in the bathroom. It had certainly helped that it was a wooden door, and that Jackson could find a crowbar, but even so it hadn’t been a cakewalk. The door Jackson was now looking at was made out of steel, and as Byron pointed out, a sword was not a proper tool for this.

He managed to stick the blade in the door frame despite how tightly it was shut. Then, mustering all his strength, he pushed on the handle to try and break the lock. Despite several attempts, the door did not budge an inch. Jackson swore out loud and pulled out his sword. He glanced at Jowallan to ask him for advice. The Cambion, while Jackson was trying to open the door, had been busy with the safe, which he had managed to unlock.

It contained more papers, as well as a handful of sealed envelopes. Undoing the seals without breaking them proved to be child’s play for Jowallan. Their eyes widened as he read their contents.

“Those the transactions you were looking for?”

“Yes, but there is more,” Jowallan said.

“Oh, lay it on me.”

“This here,” they held up a piece of paper decorated with two sigils, one red and the other light blue, “is a contract, signed by Otzando, and someone named Udruz.”

“Who’s that?”

“I do not know, but they used Rakshasa’s sigil to sign.”

“And, let me guess, Rakshasa is…”

“One of the six Archdemons. Ruler of the Opal Coast and Archcourtesan of the Houses of Opal; they’re brothels, taverns and gambling dens in the Hexacracy and in the South. She’s rumored to use them for the purpose of gathering intelligence.”

“That’s promising. What’s the contract about?”

Jowallan groaned, their lips pursing.

“It’s not very explicit, but it appears Otzando is selling information concerning the city.”

“Information? Like what, garrisons, patrols, which wall is the weakest?”

“I would need to read the letters he sent to be sure, but I believe so. Rakshasa is also requesting some knowledge concerning the Gilded Council, and… Hmm.”

The Cambion read in silence for a moment, then said: “Shadows alive, I think he’s trying to get rid of the Council.”

“Otzando? Huh. Let me guess: he offers the town to the Hexacracy, and in exchange, he becomes its king, or its vice-king, or something like that.”

“Possibly so…”

“That explains a lot, including why he had the Redthroats attack Nechido’s caravan. He’s trying to hinder him. Probably the other members of the Council, too.”

Jowallan silently agreed, and put away the incriminating letters in their bag, along with several others they had not finished reading but which looked interesting.

“We have what we came for,” they said. “Nechido can use this to get rid of Otzando.”

“Wait, we’re not going back, yet. We have to get them out,” Jackson said, pointing at the other Cambion.

“We still cannot open the door.”

“I know, but maybe…”

Jackson bit his lip, thinking hard.

“We have to kill the flame,” Byron said.

“Right, but how?” Jackson thought. He then said out loud: “Well, there isn’t much choice. Let’s use the tarp to smother the flame.”

“What if it catches on fire?” the veteran retorted.

“I know, I know…” Jackson grumbled. He pondered the idea some more. The basement was pretty air-tight. Starting a fire here could possibly suffocate both he and Jowallan before they could get out.

“That could work,” Jowallan said.

“Really? Thank God. I mean, the flame is magical, so I was afraid…”

“So is the tarp,” the Cambion said, holding the cloth in their fist. “This was not woven by a regular tailor.”

“A magical tarp?” Jackson said. Is there anything that’s not magical in this world?

“At a guess, it was enchanted so that the prisoner would not be able to take it off.”

“Oh. We’re good, though, right?”

“If touching it could cause us any problem, it would already be too late, wouldn’t it?”

Jackson clicked his tongue. Right. He reported his attention to the cage. The flame was not out of arm’s reach, but perhaps he could throw the tarp on it? A little risky, he judged. How about using his sword again? Sheathed in its scabbard, it could extend his reach by two or three feet. He submitted both ideas to Byron, who approved the second one.

Lifting the tarp with the sheathed word was no small feat. As mentioned, it was quite heavy, and only being able to use the sword’s handle made it awkward, especially through the cell’s bars. His first try ended in failure, Jackson’s throw was too short. Luckily, he could get the tarp back through the bars. Second try was off-center, so was the third. The fourth try, energized by Jackson’s frustration, finally succeeded. The tarp dropped over the flame, dousing it immediately, and returning the room to its original dimness. Jackson blinked, then stared at the tarp for a few moments, still worried it would catch on fire. Sighing in relief as it remained intact, he reported his attention to the captive.

The Cambion was still completely immobile, the candle’s dim lighting now giving their facial features a more devilish look. Jowallan quickly got busy with the cell’s door, which opened with a sharp creaking sound minutes later. Jackson entered, and moved closer to the prisoner.

“It’s okay, buddy,” he said. “You can get out of here.”

The Cambion still did not make a move. Jackson could not even see if they were breathing. Concerned, he pressed two fingers against their throat, trying to find their pulse. He found one; it seemed fast, but then Jackson had no idea what a Cambion’s normal heartbeat was. Jackson lightly grabbed their shoulder and tried shaking them a little, hoping to get a reaction.

“What’s wrong with them?”

“I don’t know,” Jowallan said.

“Let’s grab them and get out.”

Jowallan raised an eyebrow. Jackson immediately added:

“Well, we can’t just leave them here!”

“I agree. We can tie them with some rope and lift them through the tunnel.”

“Oh.”

““Oh?”” Jowallan frowned.

The young man smiled.

“It’s just… I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’m doing the right thing, and nobody’s on my ass for it.”

He didn’t need to look at Byron to know that he was rolling his eyes at that one.

Jackson carefully took one of the captive Cambion’s arms and passed it around his shoulders. The creature was very light, strangely so, even accounting for the fact that they had clearly been underfed.

“You gonna be okay, buddy,” Jackson told them as he lifted them. “Don’t know what kinda magic it’ll take to fix ya, but I’m sure we’ll find something.”

The Cambion -Jackson mentally named them Goatboy, because of their horns- remained completely immobile as his two saviors tied the rope around their waist. Jackson climbed up first, followed by Jowallan. Both of them then pulled the liberated prisoner up.

It was dark out when they emerged from the hole and back into the bedroom. The only source of light was the moon and the stars, which was barely enough for Jackson to discern the layout of the room. He untied the Cambion and hoisted them on his shoulders. Jowallan went to the door, and inched it open. They nodded to Jackson, and the both of them left the bedroom, enjoying Jowallan’s magical protection once again. The added weight of the rescued Cambion made it more difficult for Jackson to move around silently. Every one of his steps felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and the floorboards creaked sinisterly under his feet, apparently unaffected by Jowallan’s magic.

Jackson was deeply relieved when they arrived at the bottom of the stairs. The main room was still as empty as it was when they came in. None of the servants appeared to be around, having probably gone to bed. They came out the same way they came in; Jowallan made sure to lock the window behind them.

Climbing back up the tree with Goatboy proved difficult, even with Jowallan’s suggestion that they use the rope again. At one point, Jackson proved clumsy, and the Cambion banged his head against a branch. Thankfully, one of their horns took the hit, and seemed undamaged. Jowallan sat on top of the wall, and gently descended Goatboy, while Jackson, standing at the bottom on the other side, grabbed them by the hips and put them on his shoulder again.

“I’m almost amazed at how well this all went,” Byron said.

“Well, don’t jinx it,” Jackson said.

Back in the street, Jowallan pulled out some sort of wooden whistle from one of their pockets, and blew on it. The sound it emitted was high-pitched and barely audible. Seconds later, a similar sound came from somewhere up the roofs. Jackson inferred it was either Durnin or Enita responding to the signal; Jowallan had informed them that they had made it out safely, and would join them at the headquarters. As he and Jowallan disappeared into a back alley, the Cambion on his shoulder started stirring. Goatboy wasn’t truly emerging from their strange catatonia, however, it seemed more like they were fidgeting. Jackson thought that was still more than they had done so far, and he took this as a positive sign.

It took them several hours to make it back to the headquarters. They had to make absolutely sure not to cross any of the night patrols, and the added weight meant Jackson had to take regular breaks. As he stopped near a carriage porch, he heard the Cambion mumble something.

“Water…”

It was so hoarse it barely sounded like a voice.

Jackson gently put him down against the wall of a house, in a sitting position. He had to grab the Cambion’s shoulder to prevent him from dropping to the floor. Pulling out his gourd, he lifted the prisoner’s head and opened their mouth, then poured small sips in it.

“You’re gonna be okay, buddy,” he repeated. “We’re nearly there.”

Goatboy blinked. Jowallan went to stand watch at the end of the back alley they were in.

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m Jackson.”

They muttered something that sounded like “Raz” or maybe “Raj”.

“Raz? Is that short for something?”

The Cambion made a humming noise, and for a strange moment, it looked like their head vibrated, or blurred in some way. A puff of dark smoke came out of their lips, and flew away in the night with surprising speed. Thinking they were having a fit or some sort of illness, Jackson placed his hand on their forehead. They were cold, but then again that might have been their regular temperature.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

Jackson called out to Jowallan by clicking his tongue. As it turned out, Jowallan had watched Raz.

“They’ve called someone,” Jowallan said.

“What? You mean, that smoke…”

“Yes, they sent a message.”

“To whom?” Jackson asked. “Do they have friends around?”

“I do not know. It could just be that they panicked. Cambions sometimes do this instinctively when they feel death approaching. In many ways, it is akin to a last prayer.”

Jackson’s eyebrows jumped up. Did he think he was dying? Was he right?

“We need to keep moving,” he said.

Jowallan agreed. Jackson placed Raz back over his shoulders. He looked up at the starry sky, then peeked at the neighboring houses. How close were they to the headquarters? He still wasn’t very familiar with Atvello’s streets, and the night’s cover made them look even stranger. From how cheaply built the houses looked, he gathered that they weren’t in the Silky Star borough yet. As he picked up the pace, he heard a whooshing sound close to his right ear.

All of a sudden, Raz became agitated. Groaning and moaning, they began moving erratically, as if they were having a nightmare.

“Hey. Hey! You all right?”

“Jackson,” the Cambion groaned.

“Yeah, I’m here, buddy,” he said, trying to sooth his companion. “We’re almost back to our hideout. Enita will take care of you. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Jackson Pulver,” they said.

“Yeah, I… What?”

He almost dropped Raz out of surprise. But before he did, and before he could react in any way, Raz’s clawed fingers encroached on his head. Jackson’s surroundings suddenly became even darker, as a heavy screen of smoke descended upon him. He opened his mouth to scream for Jowallan, but the smoke entered it, and his nostrils, and his eyes.

And soon, there was nothing but darkness.

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