***
Griffin was in the midst of hot, bloody battle when he heard Mercius' call. It carried in the shadows overhead, and echoed off the great walls that enclosed them. Fly from this place! Do not wait for me! Griffin turned to look at his friend, and saw the end. He felt, deep inside of himself, in the closets and corners of his soul, that he would never see Mercius again. He refused to believe. In Griffin’s eyes, as he looked into those of his friend and leader, there was all the love and hope he felt for the fearless man. For an instant, a terrible defeated melancholy overtook Griffin, and he was about to surrender; simply lay down his weapons and succumb to whatever tortures would surely follow.
But, seeming to come from Mercius himself, he felt a wave of strength and resolve flood into his mind and his heart. As Mercius' back vanished into the black doorway beside Asgoroth’s throne, Griffin turned back to the snarling demons that were attacking him and his men. With a ferocious cry, Griffin leapt in front of the formed ranks and hacked violently into the demonic force. He sent the Arka out from him in great waves that vaporized and beheaded multiple demons at once.
The Hammer and the Blade, being too disciplined to follow Griffin into the melee individually, pushed their ranks into the space that he was single-handedly clearing before them. It took mere moments for the black man to clear a path to the door from which they had entered the room. Demons still streamed in from the opposite doorway, but were being steadily dispatched by the archers who had taken up the rearward guard.
The legion filed swiftly out of the door, back into the corridor which had brought them there, weapons out and at the ready, Griffin still alone out in front, searching for blood. The battle-rage burned through him like lava, and would not be quenched. Several times as they made their speedy way back up the hall, demons came hurtling out of side passageways or from straight ahead. Long before they could close with Griffin, though, they were systematically destroyed as he roared his hate and his wrath.
Then, the man stopped. Griffin tilted his head to the side, listening closely to the walls. Everyone held their breath, and it soon became apparent what he was hearing: the screams of the tortured slaves in the dungeon cells far below. Griffin stepped back toward the troop with determination written plainly on his face. Darius and Peter were there in the front ranks, looking him in the eye; they knew what he was about. He gazed at them, seeing their hesitation, then lifted his sight to the rest of the troops. They were tattered and bloody and panting. They hadn’t lost nearly as many in the dungeons as they had at the hands of Mor'denaa’s demons, but they would if Griffin tried to rescue the slaves.
He looked back to the two marshals before him. Peter gave a resigned sigh and shook his head ever so slightly: They could not rescue those below. They simply didn’t have the strength or manpower.
Griffin, seeing that Peter was right, sighed and bowed his head. Without a word, he turned and walked slowly up the path, toward the light that he knew was close ahead.
Even as Mercius was suffering through the first of the agonies of Hell, falling through the black flame, Griffin led the Hammer and the Blade out into open air. It was cooler outside than in, but it was still hot in the parched, blackened desert. The lowering sun set the black and red striations of the sky aflame, as if the world were burning.
The disheartened company made their slow and staggering way across the obsidian desert. Occasionally, there were winged demons circling in the greyness overhead, shrieking down at them. Griffin detected a note of sorrow in their ugly cries that he had never before heard, and, in his heart, Griffin knew that no matter what Mercius fate, Asgoroth was no longer in the dungeons that he had created. He smiled a rueful grin at the thought, and set out a silent prayer for the soul of Mercius, wherever it may be.
Once they were back in the forest, the company breathed easier. The oppressiveness of the scorched desert bled quickly from them, and their wounds didn’t seem so terrible as they had.
The sun had finally set, and in darkness they approached the two women who had been left behind with their guard: Keira and Sophia.
In the light of the small campfire they had built, Griffin could see that both were dry-eyed, but they had been crying for hours. Neither of them looked around for Mercius, but instead peered steadily into Griffin’s eyes. Before he could say anything, Sophia walked slowly away and wrapped her arms around Jax. He could hear her softly sobbing into his shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, and hating himself, Griffin said to Keira, “My lady, Mercius did not return with us.”
“I know,” she replied in a whisper. “I felt him go.”
“He followed Asgoroth into the depths somewhere that I could not follow. Forgive me.”
Her eyes were soft and filled with grief when she replied, “There is nothing to forgive, my dear friend.”
“Thank you,” Griffin said, tears now leaking slowly from his eyes, cutting swaths through the dirt and dried blood on his face. “I am afraid that I don’t know whether or not he is still alive.”
A small smile lit upon Keira's face. It was sad and pain-filled, but there was a certainty in it that Griffin could not deny. “He lives, Griffin. I can feel his soul. But he lives in darkness and in pain. We can do nothing for him now, but carry on, and await his return, if it should ever come.”
With that, Griffin enfolded the beautiful woman into his arms, and the two of them wept together.
As the Hammer and the Blade prepared to break camp and depart, several days later, Griffin stood at the edge of the forest. He looked across the blackened desert. The rising sun cast dim sparkles on the jagged obsidian rocks. It truly was a forsaken place.
When it was finally time to go, Griffin whispered into the stillness of the air, “Fare well, Arkarum. Fare well, my friend.”