Zavier stepped through, entering a vast open space. He froze, speechless, trying to take it all in.
The area was encircled by tall water fountains arranged in concentric steps. The water cascaded down from one level to the next in a mesmerizing pattern, flowing all the way to the sand beneath his feet. Sunlight streamed through an opening above, illuminating the place. Strangely, though the water flowed freely, the sand remained dry and fine—as if the water vanished into it. In the centre of the space was a large, circular pond. Olivia sat at its edge, legs in the water, leaning back on her hands, staring at a massive stone gargoyle that stood at the pond's centre, with water gushing from its mouth.
Zavier turned his head, but something caught his eye, stopping him in his tracks.
Olivia's clothes lay folded on the sand. She now wore only a thin white cloth wrapped around her breast and another around her waist. Her shimmering blue eyes matched her wet blue hair. Zavier couldn't help staring—at the two balls on her chest, barely covered, glistened in the sun, a bead of water sliding between the curves. Her skin glowed lightly in the sunlight, and her legs looked soft, almost ethereal. He felt an urge to touch her—but quickly shook the thought.
"Come on, Zavier," she called, jolting him back. "Come sit. Don't be shy."
"A-a—" he cleared his throat. "I'm not shy," he mumbled, walking toward her
He dipped his feet into the water and sat beside Olivia, clearing his throat awkwardly and trying his best not to look at her.
"I thought we were here to get the book, not to swim," Zavier said, wanting to avoid the silence between them.
"You know, my mother conjured this place. She was a powerful woman with powers I couldn't even comprehend," Olivia began, still staring at the gargoyle as if she hadn't heard Zavier's question. "This is where we buried her after we lost her."
"I'm sorry," Zavier said, his voice shaking with emotion. Olivia turned and looked at him. She took his hand and began rubbing it gently with one of her fingers.
"She used to say that my destiny lay in the lines on my palms, and that one day I would be a great woman," she said softly. "She would rub my hand just like I'm doing to yours. I always come here to talk to her... and I think she talks back to me too."
"Really?" Zavier gasped. "You can talk to ghosts?" he asked, amazed.
"What? No, I can't. It's just... a feeling, you know?" she replied, chuckling. "So, do you want to meet her?" she asked.
"Um, of course I do," Zavier replied, not knowing what else to say.
"Alright then," Olivia said. "Mom, meet a new friend of mine—Zavier. He wants to say hi."
Zavier now understood what was going on and immediately played along. Not that talking to a moulded gargoyle made much sense—but he had to make her feel better.
"Hi, Mrs...?"
"Lindallof," Olivia said." Yeah. Hi, Mrs. Lindallof. I'm Zavier, and I'm pleased to meet you," Zavier said.
Then, suddenly, as if the gargoyle had replied to him, he added, "What? Oh—I will!"
Olivia looked amazed.
"Oh, I should swear it to you," Zavier continued, as if Olivia's mother were truly speaking to him.
"I swear that I will protect and look after her for you, Mrs. Lindallof," he finished, turning to look at Olivia with a broad grin.
"Thank you," Olivia whispered. It was as if he had said everything she had ever wanted to hear. She slowly leaned her head on his shoulder, still slightly hesitant, torn by doubt, but comforted nonetheless.
Zavier wanted to return the gesture by holding and stroking her back, but just as he was about to, Olivia jerked off his shoulder.
"The book—we have to get it. We've wasted too much time here," she said abruptly.
She stood up, dived into the pond, and swam to the gargoyle. She pushed its lower part, which made a crackling sound, and then it opened up all at once, revealing the book.
"Wow… it's, you know, big," Zavier said, staring at it. The cover looked thick, brown, and hard, with ancient symbols carved all over it. It looked like it weighed a ton.
"Yeah, let's get out of here," Olivia replied.
She was about to swim out of the water when, suddenly, men dressed in black soldier uniforms and thick breastplates came rappelling down from above on thick ropes. They landed with force and quickly surrounded them, drawing their bows—shimmering red arrows forming out of thin air on the strings.
Just then, one last figure descended from the rope, landing with a dramatic sweep. He wore a long black, leathery coat that brushed the ground. His face was hard and almost completely hidden by long black hair and a thick beard. A scar ran down from his left eyebrow to his cheek, narrowly missing his eye.
"Well, who do we have here… if it isn't the mighty Zavier," the man said, his voice low and mocking.
"Dermot… it's been a long time. I missed you," Zavier said, his voice tense as he approached. "How's your eye? I can see it's healed."
Dermot ran his finger along the scar on his face, his expression hard.
"You won't get away with it this time," he growled, anger thick in every word.
"Great, Zavier," Olivia said sarcastically as she swam out of the water. "You've made them angry. What do you want with us, please?"
"Shut up, whore. You have no say in men's business," Dermot spat, smirking.
A thrill of rage shot down Olivia's spine.
"What did you just call me?" she asked, her voice low but deadly. Her eyes burned with fury—if looks could kill, Dermot would have dropped on the spot.
"Oh yes, yes. You're nothing but a cheap whore that Zavier uses to cool off in places like—"
He didn't finish.
A massive rock, wreathed in glowing blue mist, shot through the air and smashed Dermot into the wall. The fountain burst behind him, water crashing down onto the sand in waves.
"What the...?" Zavier gasped, his mouth falling open. He couldn't believe his eyes.
Olivia was glowing.
Her eyes shimmered a deep, radiant blue. Her hair floated above her head, suspended by unseen energy. Her clothes, torn from earlier, had reformed around her body as if summoned by magic. Swirling blue mist coiled around her fists—the same energy that had hurled the rock.
"Fire!" Dermot bellowed from his slumped position.
The archers responded instantly, loosing glowing red arrows that shot through the air with deadly speed toward Olivia.
"NO!" Zavier cried, sprinting toward her in a desperate attempt to protect her.
But before he could reach her, all the arrows froze mid-air. A glowing blue shield had formed around Olivia, encasing her in shimmering light. The arrows clattered harmlessly to the ground.
"Don't just stand there!" Dermot roared. "GET ME THEIR HEADS!"
His men launched into attack.
One soldier drew his sword and, with a skilled spin, sliced through the air—releasing a sharp wave of fire in Olivia's direction.
She staggered backward, narrowly avoiding the flames as they scorched the space in front of her. In the same instant, she dropped low and swept the soldier off his feet. A glowing mist enveloped him as he rose into the air, suspended like a puppet. With a powerful flick of her hand, she hurled him across the chamber, slamming him into two other attackers charging toward her.
Meanwhile, Zavier was being attacked by another soldier who created an ice track and slid toward him—icicles forming on his hands, the intent to strike Zavier down clear in his eyes. He leapt, both hands raised, and swung at Zavier with all his might. But Zavier swiftly bent, caught the man with his shoulders, and hurled him backward with such force that he crashed into the wall.
Zavier ducked again as a heavy punch flew past his head. He countered with a powerful blow to the attacker's stomach, then lifted him and slammed him forcefully to the floor.
Sliding across the ground, Zavier grabbed the next man by the foot and flung him mercilessly. The soldier spun five times rapidly before crashing to the ground. Another enemy leaped onto Zavier's back, but he caught him by the neck, flipped him over, and hit on to the floor.
Olivia had just snapped someone's neck when another enemy jumped on her from behind. She struggled to shake him off, but another grabbed her leg. Within moments, she was pinned down—or so they thought.
"YAAAAARRRRRRGHHHHHHH!" she screamed, a massive surge of rage exploding from within her. A loud bang followed, blasting all of them off her at once. She collapsed to one knee, drained of energy.
Just then, an arrow came flying toward her. She raised her hand to stop it. The arrow slowed in mid-air, but then broke free and pierced the upper left part of her shoulder.
"Argh!" she gasped in pain, falling to the ground completely. She looked up and saw Dermot laughing evilly, a bow in his hand. He was the one who shot her.
"No!" Zavier shouted, running toward her. But the remaining three conscious men opened fire on him. Instantly, a dark mist rose and formed a tall wall—iron-black and smoky—which Zavier used as a shield.
"Hngh…" he groaned, straining to hold the wall together. His feet slid backwards as Dermot's mocking laughter echoed in his head. He was losing his grip, and the flames were growing hotter by the second. Then, he remembered his promise. Even if it had been fake, he had sworn it. And now… he would honor it.
"ENOUGH!" he roared, stomping his foot hard on the ground.
The iron wall surged forward with incredible speed, slamming into the three men and burning them badly. His eyes turned completely black as a dark hatred coursed through his soul. He stretched out his arm, and thick mist flowed linearly toward Dermot. As it moved, it formed chains—smoking at the edges and joints. The chains shot toward Dermot's neck, but he blocked them with his left arm.
Too late.
The chain wrapped around his arm, and Zavier yanked it hard, sending Dermot flying toward him. Zavier leapt from the ground, leaving a shallow dent where he stood. He drew his arm back, curled it into a fist, and as Dermot neared him mid-air, he struck him with a brutal uppercut.
Dermot would've been sent flying back through the portal he came from, but instead, Zavier wrapped the chain around his left hand again, pulled him in, and delivered a vicious kick that sent Dermot crashing into the fountain wall.
Zavier landed on a nearby gargoyle, then jumped down to where Dermot lay. Water splashed from the broken fountain above. Zavier grabbed him, yanked him out of the wall—and smashed him back into it.
Rage surged through Zavier. The only language he understood now… was death.
He pulled Dermot out again. The man tried to throw a punch, but Zavier slammed him back into the wall. Then, with a final pull, he flung him to the ground. Dermot couldn't move anymore—covered in blood, coughing up a mouthful of it where he lay.
Zavier landed beside him, a sharp-edged sword forming in his hand. There was no joy on his face—just a void.
"Hey, don't do this," Dermot began desperately. "I can help you! I can help you cure her! Then you let me go."
Zavier's eyes shifted back to normal the moment he heard that.
"And why should I believe anything you say?" he asked coldly, the threat in his voice forcing Dermot to speak faster.
"Because… because the arrow I conjured was poisoned! It's spreading—she'll die!"
Zavier pulled him to his feet. "Then cure her."
They moved to Olivia. Dermot raised his hand above her. A purple flame whooshed out of her body, and she exhaled deeply. Her breathing slowed, and sweat glistened on her skin.
"Thanks," Zavier said—and then slit Dermot's throat.
"Asshole," he muttered as Dermot's body dropped lifelessly to the floor.