The Minds Eye

Book One of the Phantom Saga

Chapter 1: The Dawning

Where am I? What am I? Why am I? Why is my voice echoing like
this?
The young brunette man rose in a jerking fashion from his mussed up
bed. He knew another nightmare had tormented him the night before. It
was impossible for him not to know. Weeks on end had been spent with
strange voices in his head. He knew something strange was happening,
something which destroyed the normal life of a nineteen-year-old bachelor.
He knew of stories and reports speaking about this happening, yet he
always scoffed at them until now. Slowly he ran down the possibilities for
this to be occurring to him, he could remember being told he was skilled for
helping people with emotions, he could treat people with basic respect,
maybe because he loved puzzles, mysteries, and life science. Yet no answer
was coming to him.
A sigh escaped his dry lips as he wet them and climbed out of bed into
the shower. Watersuch a predictable force, yet has its times of chaos,
much like his own life. It had been easy and predictable since he could
remembersince his graduation 3 months ago his life was thrown to chaos.
At times he wanted a peaceful orderyet other times an urge of evil swept
over him carrying a pleasure for a destructive and painful order.
Out he stepped; drying himself thoroughlyout he shambled to his
bedroom with the towel loosely hanging over his shoulder. On his body a
pair of knee-length blue-jean shorts and a plain black T-shirt soon hung. His
socks and shoes were on his feet in a heartbeat. Absent-mindedly he
snatched up his cell phone and clipped it to his side as he fled the apartment.
Down the lanes of London he strolled, mind in a whir of excitement.
As he approached Montgomery Boulevard his phone let loose a cry of
excitement unlike hed heard for days. With a slight flip of his wrist the
phone rested upon his ear.
Allo? He said in a nervous manner.
Your directions, said an almost mechanical tone.
Ready. Replied the young man.
Two rights, one left, then get in the Red car with a man of high
statureNOW! rang the voice of a man using an artificial voice box. A
click, then a dead sound from the connection. The phone was returned to his

side and he began to follow the directions. A red car sat there a few turns
later with a gentleman in a white tuxedo.
Come in Mr. McMillain I am to be known as Talbot. The frame of
the man resembled a thin Caucasian with long blonde hair, yet there was an
Arabian tone in his skin.
Mr. McMillain stepped into the vehicle and sat down turning to Mr.
Talbot, Call me Roland, grinned Roland McMillain. His short brown hair
was slightly ajar and seemed to gleam in the wind, a void seemed to open in
his brown eyes, his nostrils flared to the scent of the pollen in the air.
No words were uttered the entire trip until a gasp escaped Rolands
tight lips, Scotland Yard! The beautiful lawn stretched before him as a
gate opened, leading to the grand towers of brick.
Yes, it is Roland. Now be on your best behavior, replied Mr. Talbot
in an almost fatherly tone.
Without answering Roland leapt from the car and rushed up to the
gate. He was waived through automatically, and was met at the front door
by a guard and led through a cavernous labyrinth of hallways. He saw many
paintings and sculptures in the well-furnished room, which must have been
the lobby. The guards led him in a small corridor he would never have seen
had he been alone. As they proceeded he could slowly feel a cold, damp
breeze. The hall ended at a small door that was opened to show a small,
empty closet. He could hear his steps echo as he followed a guard in. The
guard rapped on the wall and it, to the surprise of Roland, didnt budge. Yet
the guard pushed past him into the hall to where a new door stood open. HE
waited for Roland to follow. The two proceeded down a set of steps that
were lit by torchlight. Soon they came to two large wooden doors that stood
before them. When he placed his bare hand upon them they were cold as
steel, and hard like it too. He pushed them open revealing a study. Sitting
behind a black desk near a fireplace was an old man and a woman in a small
armchair with her back to the door.
Ah! Here is my young Empath! Roland take a chair, exclaimed a
deep warm old voice from the man as he kept his back and white hair to
Roland.
Thank you sir, replied Roland solemnly and sat next to the young
woman. Then he realized what he saw, a woman who could be no taller than
five feet and five inches. Long red hair hung to her lower back and light
blue eyes stared out from her Irish face. She was slender and stole his heart
without trying, as if a natural reaction had occurred.
This is Moira McFollen, a psychic investigator. Moira, this is
Roland McMillain, an unschooled Empath, interrupted the old man.
3

Roland could barely bring himself to look at her, yet she gave an innocent
smile and nodded her head.
Normally I would offer a drink, but this is urgent. Headquarters are
in a tizzy and you, Roland are in a bit of a predicament, so listen up. You
two are to go to Stonehenge and record what you sense and feel for us. We
have reason to believe there have been some accelerated activities there.
Now go post haste, ordered the man.
Moira rose. Well take my car, Roland, she said while leading the
way out. Roland followed and within minutes the black Mercedes was on
the road.

Chapter 2: The Cycles First Step

What chose this path for me? What strange occurrences? Does Moira
even realize me as more than a partner?
Rolands mind was a blur of thoughts and impressions. Just a week
ago he had received a phone call. The voice on it alerted him that he had to
keep his phone close at all times and obey his calls. He didnt believe its
warning that if he didnt comply, certain disaster would surely befall him.
The next day he had been almost shot when he didnt answer the phone.
From then on Roland was their tool.
Now here he was with a beautiful woman, in their service, going to a
place of mystery. How could this be? A boy from the poor area of London
suddenly working with a prominent yet unknown business rarely happened.
The night had wasted no time in coming upon them. They had driven
for hours, seemingly in circles, yet every time he asked her a question she
would ignore him. The car suddenly screeched to a halt on the gravel road.
Come on, Boy. Lets get to work, said Moira without emotion. She
grabbed a hand sound recorder and a camera as she stepped from the car.
Roland followed her, spying the monoliths in the distance, silhouetted by the
moon. They began a slow steady approach toward the ancient rocks.
Paranoia crept over Roland once more. He felt a solemness within the area.
A sober feeling overtook him. This wasnt fun anymore, it was real, cold
hard fact. Nothing could change that now. He looked to Moira for support
yet found a woman of beauty who seemed to be entranced and drawn
towards the circle of stone.
Leeeave thisss placccceeeeeee! hissed a gnarled raspy voice.
Fear bombarded Roland with a vengeance. He threw his vision over
his shoulder to see nothing. Moira, too, stopped and reached in her pocket.
LEEEEAAVVVVVEEE!!! persisted the ominous voice.
4

Again they stood their ground in fear and amazement. Eyes wide and
fearful, like a deer in headlights, Roland stood frozen with terror. The veins
in his head were bulging with pain, the pain of the presence of something
with no soul, a soulless beast. Never had hair stood up on Rolands neck in
such a manner before this night.
Ifff you dont leeeavve, I will make yooouuu! threatened the entity.
A moment later a tall man in a black treanchcoat, black slacks and a black
dress shirt poured out of the shadows. He seemed to be the darkness, yet
with color and visibility. His skin was pale as a corpses flesh; his long
scraggly black hair blew in a non-existent wind. In his right hand was a
large battle blade with a serrated edge.
Roland met the mans gaze and was held in terror. The blade flew
through the air and connected with Rolands belly. The blade tore and
ripped the tissue. Blood oozed its way towards the man by flowing along a
blood-groove on the sword. The mans opposite hand grabbed Rolands heart
and removed it from his body. Slowly he raised the organ in the air and
laughed as he popped it in his hand.
Moira, reacting to the ambush, threw three wooden spikes at him, one
hit is left leg, and two hit his right arm. In pain he fled shouting, Boril shall
have revenge! and disappeared into the night.
Roland felt the gash in his torso pull like a vacuum. He groped for a
hold yet none were there. The force removed him from his fleshy prison.
Then he looked down upon his dead shell, yet here he realized his purposes.
The first was to get revenge, the second was protecting Moira from harm,
and the last was to protect innocents like him from a fate as his.
His head seemed to be there, but not, as if he had sucked down large
amounts of helium. His vision slowly tunneled to blackness, then back to
normal as he saw the man flee and the hunched body of Moira over his.
Then he plunged through a gateway.
It wasnt really a gateway but a gateway is the best way to describe it.
More like a hole in nothing, from nothing, to a place of which nothing was
known. He was still here, but not. It was like looking through a window,
but interacting in a mirror image. Yet now he noticed another element,
everything seemed old or dead. Decay was everywhere. His gaze wandered
down to his own body as he realized a lack of physical being.
His eyes pierced through his shaky hand. Through it, he saw Moira.
Fear, sadness, and a sick form of pleasure swept over him. Nothing was real
to him now. This couldnt be true. In all his years of study nothing like this
had ever occurred.

Without pain his feet touched the ground once more. He was
supported by the seemingly smoke, which made his body. His clothes were
the same in every respect.
All his life, he had been training for this subconsciously. His soul
knowing the future, but his mind foreshadowed. Time was nothing to him
now. All that mattered was that his purposes were realized.

Chapter 3: The Removing of the Caul

Who is this strange man? What have I become? Where have I come
to now?
The hill Roland stood upon was drenched in dried blood. The musty
red color of the life liquid proved its age. His eyes rose to the overcast
night sky. Every thing was a hazy dream. Life, was that the big deal? If so
Roland decided he had horrible luck. To be in this place now, what could he
have done to deserve this?
Then it came, the scraping, the scratching, and the pulling. His mind
slowly returned to a state of being awake. Images began to focus, sounds
became sharper, smells began to bombard him. How wonderful, yet how
distant the feelings were. Then they were wrenched from him, only sound
and sight remained. There he stood in his clothes again, still in his ghostly
state, yet at his feet was a Caul and robe made of the same stuff. He shot his
vision in all directions then spotted a man wearing a long billowing robe of
the night, a hood rested over the figures head, a scythe in its right hand.
Roland felt fear, inferiority and respect for this individual. The mans
face was not there. A black shadow hovered over his face, even though his
hood was down. Then Roland heard it, the ominous billowing voice of
power, You were an easy one to clean. You have been special in life.
Clean? Look, um, whoever you are, I dont know you, I dont know
where I am, so just back off! Roland seemed shaky and near a nervous
breakdown.
Allow me to introduce myself. Morgan is my name here. You are?
replied the phantom.

Roland eyed Morgan up and down, Roland McMillainnow where

are we?
Morgan gave a grin, which pierced the darkness. We are in Stygia,
land of the underworld, of he without body, of the wraith.
Well with all the stuff which has happened, I believe you. Was all
Roland could say.
You see your body? Morgan began to lead the way; It is called
corpus. It is the stuff of the soul. Beware though; you must keep on the path
of good. Do not fall to your dark side called your shadow. IT will destroy
you.
Roland followed hearing all about the fact that he was a free spirit and
that they were going to a place where he would learn what he could do. All
wraiths have powers, called Arcanos, yet he did not know his own. It was
time to learn.

Chapter 4: The House of Guilds

So this is Eternity? What can I possibly do now? Why have I
changed into this?
The slow steps of many black robed figures obscured the night while
the unlikely pair stalked towards the Necropolis of London. A tall
decomposing spire shot up out of the dead city, protruding against the soft
darkness of the ancient sky. Everything had an aspect of either death or
decay within it here.
When we reach the house of guilds I shall send you to the first guild
contact. From there you will be instructed to the next place until all your
abilities are identified, understand? questioned the reaper.
A simple nod was all Roland would give.
The gates of the city were large with a portcullis raised high, yet
strangely no guards stood a watch. An emptiness, which ate away at
Rolands soul slowly, bore more weight upon him. His main chance for
survival was to keep a low profile, which was obvious to him.
Within an hour they reached a tall brick building. The corners, where
large cement blocks crumbled, were rubbed down to almost a perfect arc.
The doors were large and made of a metal unlike anything Roland had ever
seen.

Stygian Steel, boy, interrupted the reaper, Beware of it in a weapon

for it wounds us as steel did our bodies.
The doors pulled open to a large cavernous room. The ceiling was so
tall the top was not visible. Large Hermes pillars rose throughout the room
and at the door was a woman in a very long formal dress. Her skin was pale
and she almost failed to exist.
The decree is set, rambled the woman Roland follow the path and
shall be known.
A pathway carved out in the floor off into the darkness. Roland began
to follow it off. Abruptly he turned his gaze to the reaper in a questioning
manor only to be responded to with a nod. Finally he continued his travel
into the darkness.
Slowly faces began to run through his mind. Weapons and armor
bombarded his psyche, yet merged with a human form in millions of ways.
His soul and will began to run rampant with an anxious feeling.
A voice shattered his thoughts with a diabolical laugh. His eyes
darted around as his eyes were drawn to an image of a man in noble man
clothing in the medieval days.
Do you remember the images? echoed through the halls.
Yes, was the verbal reply given. Roland began to focus his mind
and body. The corpus of his body stretched and pulled to become a
carapace. Then it sank back to his flesh, as his arm became a sword. Lastly
the sword retracted and his features melded to copy the man. Both men
smiled. Roland returning to his natural state asked, Is that correct?
Aye Lad. Youve done well. You have begun the path to learn how
to mold corpus in to all objects, the Arcanos of Moliate.

Chapter 5: Reality becomes a Dream

What is the extent of my power, Moliate? What else shall I learn?
What am I being prepared for?
No sooner had the Roland learned this than a pounding was heard
throughout the halls. The instructor broke into a run back towards the
entrance. Continue forth and learn the truth!
A wind could be felt on the false skin of Roland. Then a sense, a
feeling, something dangerous was about to happen and he needed to now
choose to either run or participate. Then an explosion could be heard and
the sounds of battle. Sword blades sinking into flesh and the gnashing of
teeth and claws in unison.
8

Roland decided the first option and sped down the hall away from the
noise. A glance over his shoulder revealed a sickly looking figure running
after him, yet from its gaping maw could be seen row after row of sharp
teeth and claws on its fingers which would put a lion to shame. Behind him
a thin tall figure whose mouth was sewn shut, dry blood all over its face,
wearing a brown robe stood, his arm enveloping and constricting the
instructor. Behind these two was one other, a small innocent looking sevenyear-old girl, innocent except for the large knife in her hand. She pointed at
Roland, Bring him to me!
A popping, a snapping, and a sickening crunch erupted from below.
Rolands eyes shot down at his legs and feet only to see they had become
those of the ostrich. Faster and faster he ran. He could hear the panting and
growling of the pursuers begin to fade as he out ran them.
Suddenly his surroundings were different. He stood back in the
streets, his legs normal again. In front of him was the same building, but a
huge rip had replaced the door. Slowly Roland turned and began walking
down the streets again until he found his apartment. He entered it and went
to sleep. This has to be a dream was all that ran through Rolands head.

Chapter 6: When Reality Sets In

Secrets; everything has a secret. I have a love for my partner, my
partner still searches for me, this must be deaths little secret: it isnt over
when you die.
The alarm went off. Buzzing reverberated off the walls as the
obnoxious clock alerted Roland. His eyes slowly opened to the sight of his
clock, lying in a pile of rubble. He startled up; beads of sweat ran down his
body as he realized everything was damaged in some way. In his mind
everything was hazy; obscured by a mist, a shroud.
He dressed and left his apartment. Now things began to clear. He
knew that he would have to learn more to survive. He was going down the
streets as he passed the college. Deciding to see what was happening he
entered and went to the room dedicated to Psychology 101. He entered to
find a young vivacious woman with short bleach-tipped brown hair behind a
desk. Her hazel eyes sparkled from beneath her thin frame glasses.
Roland, I have been waiting for you. Iterated the young woman.
Who are you, how do you know my name? was all he could say.
She stood about five and a half feet tall. She wore a somewhat tight
business outfit with a skirt. She stood and leaned forward on the desk and
9

gave a smile. I am Veronica. I am here to teach you how to use the powers
of the sandmen.
You mean the powers of sleep? questioned Roland.
Not quite. You see we can play with dreams. It is our, death right,
you could say. The powers are chosen for us.
By who? murmured from Rolands lips.
Who knows, but I am here to teach you. Veronica grinned and
touched his head. Images and lights flashed in his mind as he experienced
things impossible to describe. His eyes slowly pulled shut, but even before
they were closed his vision had gone.

Chapter 7: Sandman
What is that I see? Is it truly there? Or am I dreaming?
Roland was falling, into the space, which few ever know exist in the
mind. Suddenly Roland heard the click of his shoes stepping on hard
ground. His eyes dreamily looked down; all he saw was his feet on two
shades of orange tiles. Then he looked forward, everything blurred as he
moved in slow motion. Standing in front of him was Veronica.
Is this what my dreams are like? questioned Roland.
No, this is what a mortals dream is like, she replied with a slight
giggle.
So why am I hereand how did I get here? inquired Roland.
Well I used one of my powers to bring you here with me. Now you
are to learn the power of the Phantasm, the power of sleep, the power of
dreams. Are you ready to enter the sandman? was her only reply.
A slight chuckle was Rolands only reply as he made a connection to a
song by Metallica. Those Yanks never failed to impress him. The landscape
was like that of a new age sculptor. Trees and orbs that were connected by
sinewy threads, which hung and pulled in space like caramel. In the distance
he heard nothing, an utter silence that could only be described as that which
exists before a storm. Then he turned and Veronica was gone.
Then it happened, clouds rolled in and no sooner had they arrived to
cover the entire sky then began to churn violently. The sky was like a giant
machine; lightning began to break against the sky with a thunderous fury,
which made Zeus envious. The tiles rippled like water, the n some rose
some sank, making different elevations. Then the tiles changed into grass,
cement, or even wood. He stood now on a baseball diamond, in a small

10

town park. It looked like it was straight out of an American movie he had
seen called The Sandlot.
Roland turned around looking for people, but nobody here but him.
Then he heard them, the voices, they were children laughing. He started
back to the Baseball diamond to now find it full of children. Then all but
one vanished as they turned to look at him. The one left was this thin kid in
Khaki pants and a large shirt that hung to mid-thigh. His front teeth stuck
out a little and freckles covered his face. Then he grew to a full man, but
instead of holding a baseball bat he held a sword.
Your time has come Roland. Time to die! growled the man.
Rolands arm became a broadsword and replied, This is hardly a
place to fight, maybe in a dojo?
The landscape flashed and then they were in a Japanese dojo. The
opponents weapon shifted into a no-dachi, while Rolands right arm
elongated and became a katana blade. The man swung, missed Roland, and
embedded his sword into the wall. Rolands clothing began to become hard
and plate-like to the point of suddenly taking on the appearance of ancient
Japanese samurai armor. The opponent pulled the sword back out of the
wall and stumbled back. Roland leapt forward and his blade was caught on
the opponents blade.
Muscles rippled and sweat began to pour from both mens faces.
Roland gritted his teeth, the opponents eyes closed and he let out a bloodcurdling scream as Rolands blade slid off his to embed itself in the body of
the man.
An expression of disbelief crossed the opponents face as his plasm
acted as blood flowing from his body. Rolands body retracted to its original
form, blood dripped from his fingertips. Roland knew that he had killed a
man in combat and as such was no longer one of innocence. He had been
tainted, and could feel his body quake and quiver in near terror. Then he
heard the low, hissing voice.
YOU JUST HELPED THAT MAN. HE DESERVED TO DIE.
No he didntIt was an accidentI s-swear was all that Roland
could mumble as he fell to a gibbering heap on the ground. Through teary
eyes he could see the fading body of the man who attacked him in a twisted
look of agony.
ADMIT IT, YOU LIKED IT. IT FELT GOOD.
I hate violence. I didnt kill him on purpose. I didnt want to
Roland was beginning to feel the voice vibrating in his head.
BUT HATE MAKES VIOLENCE. YOU HATE, THUS YOU
MAKE VIOLENCE. ADMIT IT, DEATH IS PLEASUREABLE.
11

Where are you? Why do you pester me!? Roland was beginning to
feel his whole body vibrate with a furiousness that rivaled the scene of two
wolves fighting over a mate.
I AM IN YOUR HEAD, YOUR BODY, YOUR SOUL! I AM
YOU!!! BUT TO SAVE YOUR MIND A LITTLE TROUBLE CALL ME
MALIGNANCE.
Roland suddenly was overcome with panic and terror as he could feel
himself changing. His arms quadrupled their muscle mass as his body grew
to that of a professional body builder. His face began to elongate to
something like a shriveled alligators, yet was white as a bone, bleached by
the desert sun. Large viscious teeth grew from his gums. No longer was he
wearing his clothing, instead he had a loin cloth and had blue sigils painted
all over his body. His eyes glowed to a deep red, like syrupy blood.
NOWWHERE IS THAT LITTLE WENCH WHO ROLAND
WORKED WITH? AH YES NOW I REMEMBER HER NAME
MOIRA growled Malignance as his mouth split into a devilish grin.

Chapter 8: Soul-tied
Am I to be a prisoner to evil? Can I escape? I must, for Moiras life
depends upon it.
As Malignance began to stalk his prey, he was becoming the hunter
hunted. He caused mayhem every place he went. The more that he made
damage, the more will Roland gained. Yet soon Malignance located Moira.
She had gone to the Tibetan Mountains to an ancient monastery. The
monks there had sent a message to Scotland Yard specifically for help with a
demon that seemed to feed off of faith. Moira was sent for her skill in ESP
and Telepathy.
This was where Malignance laid in wait. Yet Veronica was following
him and Morgan had been hunting Malignance for a week. They had called
in the Masquers guild as well as the guild of Sandmen to assist in the
submission of this beast. Yet Moira arrived at Malignances trap first.
As Moira approached the tall stonewalls she could feel the pulse of
spiritual energy. She was preparing for an old, thin, short, bald-headed man
to come to the large double doors when they swung open revealing a tall,
broad, European man in red robes standing in front of her. He bowed and
motioned for her to follow him.
Ummexcuse me but where is Hiroshi? questioned Moira as she
hurried along behind the man.
12

The man didnt answer. He reminded her of Silence, the fabled

Sentinel of the Great Wall of China. His silence was calming and serene,
like a beautiful nightingales song. Up tall flights of stairs they climbed to a
small stone cube, which had a single door, just big enough for Moira, the big
man couldnt fit. Moira was motioned in and she complied to see a small
oriental man who looked old enough to be her great grandfather. He was
sitting cross-legged and gave an almost toothless smile showing one front
tooth to be all he had.
Greetings child. I thank you for coming to our aid. Was the old
mans opening statement.
Thank you for asking for me specifically. I was, suddenly she
noticed how perfectly a beam of light shone through a hole in the ceiling and
gleamed directly off the top of his head. She continued, Flattered to say the
least.
Well let us get to the point. A demon has shown up here unlike any
other. He feeds off of our faith. He attacks us from the other side. The old
mans voice was shaky and worn out.
The other side? questioned Moira. How do you know it is from
the other side?
The way it has attacked. Influencing this world without truly
appearing so far.
Then maybe it isnt a demon. Maybe it is a ghost. Mumbled Moira.
Maybebut Mum Oni, the one who showed you to me, shall lead
you to the evil ones dwelling. May the five rings be your guide, was the
last thing said by the toothless man before he dropped off into meditation.

An hour later and ten miles away the two arrived at a ruined temple.
It looked surreal on the mountaintop for it had fountains and tropical
vegetation at extremely high altitudes. The fountains were filled with clear,
crystalline water, which gleamed in the mid-day sun. The vegetation was
bright and vibrant, seeming to have its own intelligence in the way it seemed
to listen and watch the two attentively.
At the top of a steep set of crumbling steps was a small statuette. It
was of a man, sitting cross-legged. His lips were pursed as if singing and
eyes were closed. His bulbous, oriental head was perfectly bald. Off to the
right of him was another pedestal where a large monster was in a stooped
position. The creature was covered with a wicked looking carapace and an
evil deepness in its eyes. There was no perceivable mouth or nose but the
carapace made insinuations to growths underneath it. The arms were drawn
13

back and they were rippling, large claws shaped like sabers sprouted from its
fingers. Its body was tall and thin, yet lacked nothing short of menace.
They seemed to be in opposition but they were alike in a way, which
few could understand. They were the same yet different. Their appearance
was that of the yin and yang. Nothing connected them but line of sight.
Mum Oni raised a hand and pointed to a small stone room, which
resembled the one of the old man. She seemed to understand as she
proceeded through a winding path of rubble. She noticed as she passed
through the ruins that the water had dead bodies in them, blue and bloated,
some falling apart. The plants had large leaves. Every plant she saw was
either extinct (according to her countless paleobotany classes) or was a new
plant which was a gigantic (six foot tall) Venus flytrap with actual muscles
in it, at least they seemed to be muscles. She reached into her bag and took
some photos and some samples.
Finally Moira made her way up to the top of the temple to where she
had been told she was to meet her foe. Her steps were small and paced, her
heart raced. Since Rolands death on his first mission she fell into despair
and had been given time off. She went back to work despite her superiors
and took up this job. Now here she was, this had nothing to do with her expartner and love, so it would make a good way to break back into the
business per se.
She had come with very little for she thought she would try to destroy
the demon with psychics and sorcery. She felt the wind slightly pick up and
saw the sky slowly darken. As she stepped to the top step she saw a small
man in the room, yet he was somewhat transparent and familiar but she
couldnt put a name to him.
His head rose and his gaze met hers. Staring at her was Roland, yet
his eyes were a sickly green pallor of a glow. He had an evil to him but she
knew it wasnt him, it couldnt be. He was so strong, how could he fall to
the inner beast?
I AM NOT HIM MOIRRAAAAA, hissed the phasm. I AM HE
WHO IS KNOWN AS EVIL. I AM THE DEATH OF HIM. HE HANGS
HERE TOO. His hand made a wide swaying motion to where there was a
noose and there hung the real Roland, struggling to free himself.
Put him down!!! You cant have his soul! Never! shrieked Moira.
NOW ISNT THAT WHAT YOU WANT? OFCOURSE, IT IS, BUT
NEVER SHALL YOU WIN, his hand grew huge as he tapped the swinging
Roland and set him swinging and writhing in pain. SO YOU WANT TO
FREE HIM EH? THEN YOU MUST BEAT ME! OH WAIT, YOU

14

CANT, an evil grin crossed his devilish maw, HE IS THE ONLY ONE
WHO CAN! HAHAHA!
Moira charged him, tears swelling in her eyes. Her head began to
pound with a pain that could never be felt. Yet with flick of the images
wrist she flew back and crashed into the wall. Malignances cackling
laughter echoed through the halls.
Then a haunting choir began to blow over the scene like wind when
there was a gunshot, which thundered in the underworld, and Roland fell to
the ground, the rope severed. Not this time hell spawn! Exclaimed
Veronica. Standing next to her was his instructor from the school of
Moliation, beside him was the Reaper. Veronica held a glowing shotgun, the
reaper his scythe and the instructors arms grew to two large swords, which
put a claymore to shame.
Roland shot to his feet. Now we settle this! Malignance turned to
meet Rolands gaze. There was a cool glare between them. In a moment
Malignance had copied the statue from the front except he was bulky not
thin and a black puss oozed from the slots between his plates. Roland
shifted to a carbon copy of the creature in front of the temple.
They engaged with the slashing of claws and the growling of bestial
nature. Roland lowered his head and impaled malignance on a huge spike,
which sprang, forth from his chitin. The puss exploded on Rolands body,
drenching him in pestilent stench. Then a mouth opened on Malignance as
he bit into the neck of Roland. Meanwhile outside the eyes of the beast were
glowing. As Roland was bit his carapace shattered and the eyes of the old
man began to glow. Roland looked at the dark side of him and with a single
thought sucked him in with a sudden pull of his mind, into a land of power,
into a dream world. Malignance looked the same but Roland now looked
like the statuette outside of the old man. What ensued was a psychic dual
where Roland kicked straight into the stomach area of Malignance.
Malignance began to swagger as Roland fought him to the edge of the
temple top with jabs and kicks. Finally Roland let out a last growling
scream as he jogged the memory of Malignance with a full Crescent Kick in
the head. As Malignance fell the dream shattered but Malignance was gone.
Roland stood victorious.
He approached Moira and looked into her eyes. She could see him
fading, as he faded from her view he began to speak but his breath was short.
She did not receive his message. There he stood with the three Wraiths who
had taught him.
I am proud, was all that was said, and this was by the Reaper.

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As they left the temple sullenly, Roland could see and hear Moira
searching for him. Sadness overtook him because he could not help her
again. They went down to the front and left. Only a single thing was seen
by Roland, a single statuette of a man, himself, standing with the head of a
great best in his hand. The two statues of the man and beast were gone, but
rubble lay everywhere.
It was plain to see his soul had survived a Harrowing. Oblivion failed
at its first and second attempts. Yet the sentience behind the great fall
pledged not to fail again, Fate depended upon it.

The End
Written by: Kyle Ricks
All game mechanics and references to games made to White Wolf Game Studios are purely for storyline purposes. I claim no
ownership to any of the above game concepts, though the actual story is a campaign written by myself, as are the characters. I claim
no ownership of any of the White Wolf products, though I openly endorse the products, ESPECIALLY WRAITH.

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