“So, have you had enough yet?” D’Arden asked with a glint of the manna fire in his eyes. “Do you really want to push this any farther? Give up now and I may let you return to the forest and your cursed brethren there, two of which I slew before I entered this godforsaken city, and another that I will slay now before either one of us leaves here!”

  The wolf panted, but still managed to laugh. “You have nowhere to run, Arbiter, and nowhere to hide. This is my lair, and you will die here as surely as you would die if you were to face my master. You must be weakening; there is no chance that you could have found a source of pure manna anywhere near this city. Everything you touched would have only weakened you further, and now I will do the same!”

  D’Arden worked hard to hide the smile that sprang to his lips. The wolf had underestimated him and his ability to reach out spiritually for the manna – it thought that he was exhausted.

  The wolf’s arrogance would be its downfall.

  The Arbiter charged forward and swung his sword in a cutting arc. The wolf leapt aside and came back around swiftly, its jaws closing on the air that D’Arden had been standing in only seconds before. D’Arden used the force from his twisting aside to bring his sword downward in a cleaving strike that would have severed the wolf in half had he caught flesh. Instead, his sword only cleft fur, sending strands of hair floating down to the floor.

  The fel wolf, whose wounds had healed now, made a wheezing noise which was even more like a laugh than the previous growl. “Do you really believe that you stand a chance against me, Arbiter? Do you really think that you can defeat me in your weakened state? I am going to tear open your throat and drink every last drop of sweet, manna-touched blood from your body, and then leave your corpse for the crows along with the rest of the sorry folk above!”

  D’Arden lowered himself into a crouch, holding the sword threateningly between the two of them. He allowed a hint of the smile he had suppressed earlier to touch his lips. “Would you believe me, beast, if I told you that you had underestimated my power?”

  The wolf’s jaws hung open and it made the wheezing laughter sound again. “I would say that you were simply trying to delay me to find an opportune moment to strike me and catch me off my guard.”

  The element of surprise was his only chance. D’Arden willed up as much manna from his veins as he could possibly muster, but did not allow it to show anywhere outside his body. His eyes might have glowed slightly brighter, but the wolf would never notice in the light of his manna blade. “You have underestimated me,” he said, allowing the small smile to spread into a full grin.

  “Die, Arbiter!” the wolf cried, leaping once more into the air.

  Thrusting out his hand in the same motion as before, his palm turned outward and his fingers kept close together, he summoned up all of the energy that he could possibly muster into that single point and compressed it, held it so tightly that he felt as though for a moment he might simply explode into nothingness, and then suddenly relaxed his concentration and allowed it to flow forth.

  Any normal man would have been blinded by the explosion of manna that emitted from D'Arden's outstretched hand. The light flared brighter than the sun itself for an instant, a single moment in time and then rocketed outward with the force of a lightning strike. It almost appeared to be liquid as it struck outward, catching the wolf full in the chest and crackling around it, the sound of thunder echoing in the deep stone chamber. The wolf let out a yelp that was nearly as loud as the thunder itself, its voice amplified by the corruption that dwelled within it, and the resulting cacophony ached deep in D'Arden's ears.

  The wolf was slammed back against the wall as before, but this time, it seemed that D'Arden could feel the very foundation of the building shake with the force. Stone was chipped and knocked loose from the wall, falling to the floor in bits and powder. Dust was dislodged from the ceiling dozens of feet above them, and sand trickled down into the chamber.

  The manna fire was licking at the wolf's fur now, and the russet glow that the fel beast sported had dimmed considerably. The blue flames were consuming bits of the wolf's fur and flesh near its feet and around its face. It let out a deep, rumbling growl, but even its summoning of power could do little against the force that D'Arden had unleashed upon it.

  "No," the wolf snarled. "No! How? How did you…"

  D'Arden took a step forward, the light shining from his manna blade still as bright as a moment before as he reabsorbed some of the energy that had splashed off of the wolf and returned to the earth. He approached the wolf with confidence, knowing that his enemy had been weakened by the surprise assault.

  "As I said, beast… you underestimate me," D'Arden said grimly. "You believed that because you have power here that you were the stronger of us, so instead of fighting cautiously, you fought with too much confidence. For that is your undoing, beast… your instincts have not yet gone enough to think that you might, for once, be at a disadvantage when fighting a mere man."

  With those words, D'Arden lunged forward and thrust the blade deep between the fel wolf's ribs. The beast let out a howl and tried to snap its jaws at the Arbiter's arms, but D'Arden brought up one of his thick-soled boots across its snout sharply, and snapped its head back to the side. Once the manna fire had penetrated its thick outer skin, the wolf simply could resist the purification no longer. It gave a long, mournful death howl that echoed around him as the pure manna drove deep within its twisted heart and began to unmake the wolf from the inside out, driving out the corruption that gave it the dangerous and evil intelligence and returning its flesh to the power of the land.

  Finally, the fel wolf's muscles relaxed and it fell lifelessly to the stone floor. It was then that the manna flames began in earnest, lapping at the corrupted flesh and fur and bone, blazing brightly and eagerly and turning into a veritable azure bonfire. D'Arden took a few steps back, allowing the manna flames to run their course and ensuring that he did not himself get caught up in the blaze. What power was thrown off in the consumption he drew back into himself to replenish his own reserves.

  Finally, when the azure flames had died and the wolf was no more, D'Arden turned himself back to the stone staircase. There was nothing left here now in this ancient stone cellar beneath the city.

  He found himself exhausted, his body and mind drained from the incredible assault that he had just undergone. Each stair that he climbed was burning agony in his limbs, and he felt several times heavier than he was. As he reached each landing he would stop for several seconds and take deep breaths, careful not to draw in too much breath that would overwhelm him but also finding himself gasping for the sweet cool air. He could sense that he was nearing the top of the staircase as the smell of rot began to grow in his nostrils once more.

  Finally he reached the top of the stairs, back into the rotten and mildewed wooden building at the ground level. The only thing that drove him forward, knowing that he would have to pass once more through the disturbing chamber piled with the bodies of the dead, was the thought that he could once again return to the font here and purify it of its evil, and absorb the power into himself so that not only could he recharge, but he could set himself up here, rather than in the horribly corrupted trade center where he roomed currently, and begin planning a strategy that would help him in saving this city from the depths that it had plunged to.

  It was his purpose, he reminded himself, even though as he passed through the ranks of the staring-eyed dead that he briefly considered joining them himself in death from exhaustion. This was the greatest undertaking of his existence, to determine why this place had gotten so far, and what was driving the corruption to reach further and further outward as though it intended to devour the entire world.

  Finally, he stumbled back out through the wooden door that led to the street and slammed it behind him, rattling the panes in the shattered out windows of the building that he stood beneath. The sun seemed impossibly bright after the session he had spent deep beneath the earth. He squinted his eyes and still they were overwhelmed by the brightness, and he was forced to squeeze them closed as he drew in breath after breath of fresh air at last, though the cold burned his lips, his tongue and his chest as he gasped as though he were a fish pulled from its pond.

  After some time, he found that he was able to open his eyes again without immediately being forced to close them again. The sun still seemed too bright, and the colors of the world seemed strange and distant to him, but he knew that those would return in time. Once he could see his feet and the cobblestones before him again, he began to make his way back through the streets of the low quarter, trying to recall his path from before without becoming too lost.

  Despite his best efforts, he sound found that he was hopelessly lost in the mazelike streets of the city. He recognized no landmarks, and he had been too intent on his path previously to leave a trail of crumbs or markings for himself. He could not find a single person on the streets – they had apparently all come together in a single area to huddle together in these miserable times, for which he could not blame them, but it did make it difficult to ask for directions.

  Simply collapsing would have, quite literally, gotten him nowhere, so rather than give up and sit on an abandoned step he continued to wander, half in a blinded haze, through the streets, simply hoping that he might come upon the font chapel or a single building that he recognized.

  At last, his salvation came on the wind.

  "Master Arbiter!" called out a familiar voice. The boy. Mikel.

  "Here!" D'Arden croaked, and it seemed to him that his voice belonged to someone else entirely. "I'm here!"

  Footsteps approaching. Sensing that there was finally another human being nearby, D'Arden collapsed onto one knee. That strike to take down the fel wolf had drained him more than he realized, and he felt his head spinning about him. The darkness was once again closing in on him, but this was not the oppressive darkness that had surrounded him in the cellar, but instead a comforting, warm blackness that offered him solace in its embrace.

  "Master Arbiter!" the boy's voice said again. He was nearby now, rushing to D'Arden's side. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and fought to stay conscious. Another hand supported him, kept him from simply falling into the dust to lie there.

  With that strength beside him to bolster him, D'Arden fought back the unconsciousness that threatened to engulf him. Slowly his vision returned, and he looked into the concerned eyes of the young soldier that had led him here, to the place of his first real victory in this impossible fight.

  "Thank you," D'Arden gasped. "You found me."

  "It's been hours," Mikel said. "I came back to the font chapel, just like you said, but you weren't there. What happened?"

  "I found the source of the corruption here," D'Arden said. "It was all centered in a selfish wolf, that should have been using the power to expand his influence, but instead all he cared about was drawing inward and building his power, luring his victims to him and holing up within the earth. His mistakes are our triumph, Mikel. The wolf is gone, defeated by its own base instincts, and we can now purify the font here in the low quarter." He paused for a moment and looked around them. "Where are we?"

  Mikel pointed along the road to an ancient stone gate that was crumbling and nearly fallen inward. "That's the Old City, down that road there. Nobody's lived there for decades. It's all abandoned now, ever since they built the new city here. You're by Calessa's south gate."

  He had wandered far then, D'Arden supposed. He reached out, and the boy grasped his hand firmly, helping him get to his feet. Though he still felt dizzy, he no longer felt as though he might collapse at a moment's notice. The thought of victory drove him onward now.

  "We must go back to the font chapel near your home," D'Arden said. "Lead me there, Mikel. We must get there immediately."

  The boy nodded, not questioning the urgency in his tone for a moment. D'Arden could not follow a single one of the turns they made through the streets, but Mikel seemed to know every side alley and every street as though they belonged to him. Having grown up in this part of the city, he reflected, the boy probably had played in these streets as a child, which would of course explain why he knew them so well.

  After what seemed like an eternity, they arrived before the door of the font chapel once more. D'Arden stared at it as though it were his sole salvation. This was his chance, his only chance, and it was a slim one. It had already been some time since he'd defeated the wolf down in the chamber beneath the earth. It was only a matter of time before the demon realized that his minion was gone and no longer siphoning power from this font, and sent in something to clean up the mess.

  "Stand back, lad," D'Arden said, waving one hand at the boy. Mikel dutifully backed up several paces. "Now, don't come following me, no matter what you hear in there, do you understand?"

  "I understand," Mikel said.

  "Good," the Arbiter said. He brought the key out of his pocket and once more unlocked the heavy door that kept the radiant energy within. As quickly as possible, he opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

  There was still corruption flowing in the manna here, but he could feel that its influence had faded. The demon that lived here in Calessa had obviously been counting on its lupine minion to take control of this area and its power, but instead the wolf had lingered in its lair, merely taking what it needed in order to survive and build its power. It was a fatal mistake that he could not afford to repeat; once he had built up his power here just enough, he would need to make his next move quickly in order to catch the enemy as unaware as possible.

  Once more he plunged his hands into the pool of light, and stiffened. The power surging through him, combined with his exhaustion, was almost more than he could bear. He had used a lot of energy defeating the fel wolf, and now purifying the font was nearly too much for him. He felt the pull of the manna tug at his soul, at his flesh, persuading him to join it and give up his life to become one with the earth. He fought against that urge, resisted its siren call. Instead he flooded the font with what pure energy remained from his trance, pouring all of it into the river in the hopes that what he carried within him would be enough to cleanse the font fully, so that he might then immediately begin drawing power from it to sustain himself.

  It was agony; the tug on his soul became nearly too much to resist. He cried out in pain, in ecstasy, they blended together and his mind began to meld with the earth and become one with the flow and he could feel the power shining out of his eyes…

  The heavy thunk behind him of the door opening snapped him back to consciousness. He heard the squealing of the hinges behind him, and he turned around to face whatever new threat had come to him, now interrupting this most crucial work. He drew his sword off his back…

  He came face-to-face with the wide-eyed stare of the young soldier.

  "Master Arbiter, I…" the boy stiffened immediately. The power was still radiating from D'Arden, so strong he thought it must be shining through his very flesh. Mikel cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground as the energy washed over him. He began screaming, sobbing as the light from the manna began to twist his flesh.

  "Why?" D'Arden asked, his voice echoing like thunder.

  "I…" the boy screamed again as he tried to speak, and D'Arden could see the flesh beginning to melt from his face. "I came to warn you! Some… something is coming!"

  "YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED AWAY!" D'Arden roared, awash in anguish and rage and confusion and loss, for he knew already that the boy was doomed.

  With no choice but to leave the boy to his hideous fate, D'Arden turned back to the pool of manna, plunging his hands deep within it again even as he dropped his sword to the floor. The shrieks of the boy faded rapidly to piteous wailing, and then merely to moans as the manna forcefully drew out his soul and transformed his flesh, likely into something truly hideous. Exposure to the light of the manna would reveal the worst in a normal man, destroy the façade of normal humanity and bring forth the truth from them in the most painful manner possible.

  As the flow of manna within the font shifted from corruption to purity, D'Arden felt the energy immediately flow into him. He felt rejuvenated, his mind snapped back to full alertness. Now that the balance of power within the font had tipped in his direction, he could draw his power from it. He felt elated, the joy surging through him as surely as the power itself did.

  He withdrew his hands at last when he felt as though he was brimming with so much of the manna energy that he felt radiant and nearly invincible. It was only then that he remembered the plight of the poor soul, laying on the ground behind him, completely destroyed by the energy that sustained him.

  D'Arden turned, expecting to see some horrifying vision lying on the ground just outside the door of the font chapel. He had seen many men in his time that had been struck by the light of the manna font, most of whom had turned into something resembling a creature out of a child's nightmare or campfire ghost story. They usually ended up with their limbs twisted about, looking as though they had broken themselves several times in an attempt to get away from the horrid things that were happening to them.

  Despite his desperate hope, there was no solace to be found here.

  The boy’s innocent form had become twisted into a frightening monstrosity, its flesh blackened and withered. As he watched, it scrabbled to its feet, sporting long claws that had sprouted unceremoniously from its hands. Only a few strands of wiry hair remained of the boy’s shock of brown, and those strands stood out straight from the creature’s head. The boy’s clothes had sloughed off the creature’s greatly reduced mass, and the beast stood naked before him, though nothing remained that would define it as indecent. It entirely ignored the soldier’s blade on the ground between them, and instead it stared at him with yellow eyes that burned with hunger. Mikel had not been exposed to the light of the manna font long enough to die, it seemed… but only long enough to awaken.