The Island With No Parallel

Messenger

The men sitting around in the cells of the Fantasma knew they were dead men.

"Marcello, the deadline has got to be coming soon," said Vincent, grasping the bars between the cells that separated them. "We had five days after Krileon was summoned, remember?"

"Of course, I do," Marcello barked back. "But I can't bloody tell one day from another without any damn sun down here." He reasoned to himself that it hadn't been that long. That he still had time to think of a way out of this. But it had been a while, and the deadline was hanging over him with the friendliness of a guillotine.

"What will we do when the messenger comes?" asked Giovanni. "We've failed every other attempt to kill him so far by always summoning Dark Ones instead of doing it ourselves to save face in front of the crew. There won't be any second chances this time."

"They told us Krileon was sure-fire. It isn't our fault they found a way to kill him. He was supposed to be invincible!" Marcello snapped.

"A lot of good that's going to do us now," Giuseppe mumbled from the corner of his cell.

Marcello had tried thinking of a million ways of trying to save their asses, but down here in these cells there was no way he could get up to where his brother was resting safely in his bed and complete the task given them himself. How were they supposed to anticipate the death of Krileon? Surely he couldn't be held accountable for something no one could have expected.

"No, no, wait. I just thought of something," he said suddenly. "It isn't our fault they found a way to kill Krileon. The Aracs are all about deals and contracts. When they dealed with us about Krileon, our instructions were detailed. Summon him once the others showed up to retrieve him and let him kill who he may, then bring the blood once the job was done. Since they thought Krileon would be impossible to kill, they didn't detail any consequences for if he didn't get the job done. It would be different if Krileon didn't get to them, that would be our fault. But he did, he was just killed by that stupid Moorish girl."

"So you're saying we did our part," Vincent said, sitting up straighter as he saw where Marcello was going.

"And that's what we tell them to defend our part of the deal. Their monster failed them, not us."

"Do you really think it could work?" asked Giuseppe.

"If we play our cards right when the messenger comes, yes. But we have to be careful about it. But hopefully we still have a day or two before–"

Marcello was cut off by the sound of whispers, and all four men paled at the sound. The messenger had come.

Green smoke poured down the stairs leading from the cells, filling the room with a hazy moss-colored mist, the whispers growing louder as the cold vapors curled around them. Icy sweat beaded down Marcello's neck as the chilly air sent shivers down his back, the temperature in the room having dropped instantly.

A shady figure came walking down the stairs that the four men knew from experience only they could see. It was a private conversation between the sender and receivers whenever a message was given like this.

The figure wore a dark hood that swayed with the mist, its face covered in shadow. It stopped at Marcello's cell, and he felt like it was Death itself hiding under that hood. But he straightened his back and reminded himself of his resolve. He and his men in reality had done everything right. It was Krileon's error, not theirs.

It turned to him, its face still covered in shadow, and spoke with the voice of its sender, Prince Renen of Ecencia. "Has the task been completed?" asked the voice in English.