Quil stood at the center of the pandemonium, gripping with each hand two shortswords--Kail's Twins. Sweat tickled down her brow, joining the blood that set there. With each labored breath, she struggled to keep her strength. She had been killing for the last... how many hours has it been? This battle felt like eternity.

The Ghouls keep appearing from the Rifts, one that managed to appear where they thought they were safest. It was inevitable, Quil thought, this was bound to happen. Nowhere is safe, not even at the Sentry.

Then a shadow, a flicker of movement. A stone turned behind Quil as if being stepped on. A low growl, one filled with anger and bloodlust, came afterwards. Before Quil had managed to grasp what was happening, it was already too late. A Ghoul stabbed her back.

Pain... so much pain.

Quil, with shaking hands, gripped the bloodied spear that pierced through her chest. Please make it stop. Her vision was starting to fail her as the world around her seemed to spin and dim. She dropped both Kail's Twins to the ground, and fell on her knees.

Had she become too weak? Why hadn't she noticed the Ghoul sneak up behind her?

"Quil!" she heard his voice. Orin.

Then the spear that protuded from her chest shattered into a million tiny pieces, leaving behind a ghastly wound.

Strong arms held her shoulders as she felt her strength leave her and suddenly she felt herself lying against someone's chest. "Orin?" she croaked.

Then his face was all she could see. His saphire eyes, and his tousled silver hair. Blood caked at the side of his face, and the side of his lips were marred, but he was still celestial.

"Shhh..." Orin replied. "It's over."

He ripped a part of his fabric and wrapped it around Quil's wound, making sure it was applying enough pressure to hopefully make the bleeding stop. Quil let out a pained cry.

"The Ghouls are gone. They're no match for the Aegis," Orin said as he wiped a tear away from Quil's eye. "I've called for the Healers. Stay strong for me, Quil."

Around her, she felt that it had calmed down a little. The attack was over. It seemed impossible but the Ghouls had indeed penetrated the Sentry.

But Quil had lost too much blood. She could feel the cold creeping to her slowly, and the darkness.

"Kail, don't give up on her please," Orin was now pleading to Quil's Lua, but Quil knew it was hopeless. She could feel Kail's energy weaken more and more by each passing second. The life, after all, of a Lua rests upon its host.

"Orin..." she struggled to whisper.

Orin held her hand tightly. "Don't speak. It's alright."

But there was no more time for unspoked words. Quil shook her head, and she opened her mouth to speak the words she longed to speak for so long.

"Forgive me."

Then everything went black for Quil as she lay limply on Orin's arms.

Haya though he knew everything about the dragons of old--how magnificent beings they were, with shining scales stronger than diamond, and wings that spanned villages. But nothing prepared him for this... being that stood before him.

It was a dragon. Yet...

Its eyes were red, with blood dropping from them. As it moved, its skin would go brittle and break, wounding it. It folded its wings, which were nothing more than bones, around its body protectively, as if afraid that a mere touch would shatter it.

This dragon was decaying.

Questions flooded through Haya but only one came out of his mouth. "Who are you?"

The dragon took a step but as soon as its front leg held its weight, the bones underneath it broke, and the dragon fell on the ground. Yet it continued to move forward, even if it was crawling.

Haya stood paralyzed as the dragon laid down its fragile head in front of him, exposing its neck. He, then, realized what the dragon wanted.

With a final look to the downed being, Haya raised his sword and brought it down to the dragon.

He was Haya, the dragonslayer, but for the first time, he shed a tear for his victim.

They've already said the words twelve times. "One last time," my friend giggled, but something was already bothering me. "Say it with me," she said as she faced the mirror. "Bloody Mary."

The mirror reflected nothing but our images, and I was about to sigh in relief. Then something caught my eye.

A shadow.

I turned to the corner of the bathroom, and there stood a woman, her head held down, hair covering her face, blood strewn across her tattered dress.

I felt a hand tug my arm, and saw it was my friend, paralyzed with fear, her eyes on the same corner.

Shaking, I turned my gaze back to the ghost, but only saw as it ran towards us.