Constant thuds, like that of hundreds of stomping feet against stone, came first – vague and turbulent. Then, noise of the disturbance soared to a marvelous, deafening height, bringing with it vicious growls and a fraying sound like a grunt from a large creature.

Waverly began to awaken, roused by the increasing discord. Impelled by throbbing pain, she slowly reached for her skull and felt warm liquid dribble over her hands. The sight of blood made her woozy mostly because of its muchness. On the ground, where her head had been, was a pool of thick red that goaded both alarm and a desire to vomit. But given her weak and deluded state, she could not spare a reaction.

With the grace of a drunk, she rose and staggered headlong into a column. To her blurred eyes, the singular post appeared as three. Her attention reverted to the approaching stampede when it began to seem closer than ever.

Run. A small voice motivated, though she was uncertain where it came from.

Using the crowd of pillars that littered the vast domain for support, she hopped ahead, straining to maintain a long distance in between her disadvantaged self and the incoming army in spite of it being impossible as a result of her plodding. Soon enough, the crowd swept in with crushing speed. She lowered behind a pillar in the corner to keep from sight and watched them race toward the horizon; horned, beastly, reptilian and avian creatures, some bipedal and quadrupedal, others completely foreign to her. As they ran, they crashed into any obstacle, causing avalanches and hailstorms in the form of debris.

Waverly shielded herself by folding into a cube, but she was not to be spared.

As the dust settled, she brushed them off, lifted her eyes and found that she was being stared at by a pair of Carknesses. They appeared bulkier than their common kind, leading her to believe that they had possibly been crossbred with something more malevolent. She stilled in the hopes that they would lose interest and move along with the crowd, but the monsters regarded her for a few more seconds before closing in.

Whistle. Again, the small voice provided with urgency, rising from a place deep within her that felt similar to a vacuum. A place she could not put a finger to.

The first try was hopeless, and the second came out as a weak huff. The third sounded like low panting, and the fourth made no noise at all. By then, the lead Carkness was already so close to her face that she could see into its evil eyes. She backed into the sile behind, unable to peel her gaze. The creature huffed a fiery breath and reared to attack.

Then, she tried the whistle again, desperately, and the shrill sound startled both creatures.

True to their nature of imitation, they cluelessly repeated the whistle in unison.

Out of nowhere, Reek jumped into the scene, baring deadly teeth and claws. The Carknesses turned their attention to the dog, allowing Waverly an avenue for escape. This time, she was able to trudge a little faster than before, still burdened by weakness following the excessive loss of blood. No destination presented itself because the whole landscape annoyingly stretched on and on, covered in mist and populated by ruins. Due to the familiarity of the scene, she concluded that she was yet to leave The Hoax.

But with Reek finally in sight, her exit was almost guaranteed.

However, contrary to the outcome she expected, another Carkness emerged out of the corner, bloodied and beaten, but just as vicious. The sight of it told her that Reek had lost the fight.

Within a split second, the creature lunged. She dropped with swiftness and rolled, dodging its weight. It crashed into a row of half broken columns, growling and snarling. When it rose, Waverly's eyes shone at the objects that surrounded its feet. Rods of iron.

The sudden sight of them filled her with a renewed sense of strength. Bidding her time, she allowed the Carkness make a second attack and launched herself to go under its legs. The moment she came up to a stand, she was brandishing two rods. Thankfully, they were not too heavy to swing, only good enough to inflict pain and possibly, kill.

The creature glared, its spine igniting red.

"Repeat after me," She whispered softly, monitoring its movements whilst refraining from making any herself. "Death embraces me a second time."

The Carkness lowered its small head, as if unable to resist an urge to listen. It retracted and opened its mouth. "Death embraces me a second time."

"So it shall!" She agreed and took the offense.

Strength coursed through her limbs, rushing with vigor like a spring let loose from somewhere deep within. It seemed to have been present all along, merely out of her reach and often unwieldable because of the draining force that the atmosphere was tinted with. She swung the rod as easily as one would swing a rope, inflicting deep gashes and cuts across the creature's body. It recoiled with pain each time, but advanced nonetheless. When it finally ran out of luck, the first rod embedded in the left side of its neck. Waverly tugged, using its own weight against it to swing again and latch the second rod onto the right. She drew her weapons back with a defiant yell, slicing the creature's neck open on both sides in the process.

It dropped to its knees and crumbled sideways at her feet.

With heavy breaths, she shut her eyes, relishing the old taste of victory. Her nerves were humming in her ears, her fingers buzzing with need. It had been so long since she felt the adrenaline of battle – a sensation as exhilarating as it was fierce.

Distracted by approaching steps, she turned and found Reek limping toward her. He was badly injured and missing an eye. She let go of the rods and rushed to him.

He sat back to allow himself be stroked, moaning in pain.

"Thank you for coming to my aid, Reek." She managed, rubbing his snout. He whimpered and licked her elbow.

In the distance, multitudinous footsteps introduced Zors and a whole gang behind him. Floating right next to Hawk was Ghost.

"Seems you have my pet's loyalty now." Zors said to her and regarded the dead Carkness before gesturing to Ghost. "Deadness here tells us. . . you're half alive." He took a step forward. "How did you end up in this unfortunate dump?"

Waverly heaved a big breath and left the Aur to approach Zors. "I'll only answer that if you show me the way out of here."

A sudden outburst of mocking laughter came from him. "And what makes you think if there was such a thing as a way out of Nys I wouldn't have taken it long ago?"

She looked him up and down. "You're dead. As are every single one of you. I'm not. If anyone has the chance to leave, it's me."

"And why do you think I'd help you at all?"

She studied him and the crowd for a few minutes. "Because you did not come now to declare yourselves enemies, you came for an alliance. You seek leadership still, and you have concluded that I can give it."

Zors's eyebrows went up in amusement. He turned briefly to face his brethren. "Well, there's one smarter than the entire Balderdash put together." His focused returned. "I came partly because I was curious. We heard you have a personal feud with her Esteemedness. Now, that is none of our business, but if you can challenge her and still live, then you can help us out. That's the other part."

It was Waverly's turn to cock a brow. "What could you possibly want in such a place? More delirium for comfort?"

"No." He said hesitantly. "We want something more precious."

A short pause.

"Memory."

She frowned in wonder. "You want memory?"

"Our memories." He clarified and hefted his weapon. "When every Balderdash first arrives, he has memory of his life before death, but as time wanes in the world of life up there, memory follows suit down here. This process has no designated method. It can come immediately after decay or otherwise take centuries. Nearly every one here has lost all his memory, save for Deadness there, and Hawk and myself."

"What exactly do you want your memories for?"

"Hope." This time, it was Hawk who provided a response. "With memory, we're less tied to this place and more to our own selves. I am well aware it's just my soul exists here, but it exists in broken fragments. Memory would piece it together and keep me solid enough to bear the weight of this place. No one wants to float in pieces for as long as beyond eternity, except he wishes to drift into The Blear."

The explanation made no sense whatsoever, but Waverly could not help that she found some form of truth in it. The ability to remember things was a method to reserving strength and also, belief. Since she was yet to lose all memory, she was yet to lose hope. To add to the oddity of being approached by the Balderdash, how their alliance would benefit her was also a marvel. It was almost amusing that they felt they did her a favor. That is, unless the way out of Nys was revealed.

"Is there someplace your memory is kept?" She questioned. From the distance, she could not see Ghost's face, and it worried her. His face was the only way she could know whether her decision to help was right or wrong.

Zors shifted on his feet. "Isadorios."

"Where is that?"

"Who is that, you mean." He corrected. "A Chay. An undead entity that dwells in The Loathe."

At the mention of the fourth layer of Nys, her eyes hastily found Ghost, but he was still too far away to decipher expression. It was odd too that he kept so silent. Naturally, he would have piped his disapproval.

"Wait one second," She cautioned, assaulted by creeping alarm. The thought of visiting any layer at all was already horrendous speak more of the Loathe. "Why do I have to go to Isadorios?"

"Because you're brave." Hawk offered encouragingly. "Not a lot of us can get close enough to Zedrikon let alone break his legs."

A look of bewilderment marred Waverly's face after the ridiculous statement. A chortle escaped her chest, alerting to painful friction somewhere in between her ribs. She placed a hand there and began to massage gently. "So, you've all voted – in my absence – to have me visit Isadorios in the Loathe and bring back all your memories? In exchange for what?"

"We'll play guard dog for you." Hawk ostensibly revealed. "We're a mighty lot of batterers, and we reckon everything down here either wants to kill you or turn you into powder."

"Same thing, Hawk." Zors put out helpfully.

"Yeah." He went on. "And, for your sake, we no longer will obey Her Esteemedness whenever she orders one of us to bring you harm. Isn't that right, Tars?"

Waverly was surprised to find Tars amongst the Balderdash. He nodded in agreement.

"For how long do you expect to pull off this brilliant plan of yours?" She wondered. "It isn't as if any of you possess more power than Hekate."

"No," Zors agreed. "But believe us or not, we have this whole layer mapped and she doesn't. She hates it here, barely ever comes down. I can hide you, pretend I haven't seen you if she asks. She will count on my reports as her newest herald, and also because she wouldn't risk searching for you herself. It'll only make her look desperate. I'm sure she wants to be anything but that."

Waverly pored over his words even as he continued talking.

"You can have a rest even if it's not a nice place to rest in. Deadness tells us you barely had any since your arrival. When strife lessens, then it wouldn't be so difficult to face the evil here."

For a long time, she stared in contemplation – from Reek, to Ghost, Zors, and the crowd behind. It was not a very fabulous offer, but she had grown undeniably sick and tired of running around and being pounded. Literally. Even if it were for as long as she needed to regain strength, surely there could be some positive outcome of that. Moreover, no other being had approached her as kindly as the Balderdash albeit their previous attempt to vent their anger upon her.

It was without a doubt she knew that only Zors had done the "thinking through" of them all. Should Hekate sniff out their treason, she would waste no time in banishing offenders to The Blear. For others, it was an inescapable fate. As for Zors, he could talk himself out of trouble – even reason with the witch goddess. In conclusion, the plan to recover memory from the Loathe was a one-sided favor. The beneficiaries? Himself and his vices, whom were, truthfully, the main forces to be reckoned with. Everything else was merely a pawn.

She began to see the cunning in the plan.

It almost drove her to smirk.

"How do I find Isadorios?" She asked aloud, enough for people in the back to hear.

"That should be of no bother. He will find you first." Zors marched closer and lowered his voice to her hearing alone. "Memory is released one at a time."

With that, he stepped back and stirred the crowd to rejoice with a simple raise of his hand.

"Reek can accompany me there." She suggested, turning to the valiant creature. Even with its missing eye, it managed to appear majestic.

Zors turned. "No. Reek cannot journey with you. He may slow you down. I and a few will accompany you instead. We know the way."

She made to protest then rethought. From one of the Balderdash, Zors collected a fat lump of stick, bound it with a piece of cloth then walked toward the dead Carkness and buried it into its spine. As quick as thought, the stump was licked by red flames.

He hefted the torch in satisfaction and turned to her. "This way."

The crowd parted in the middle and gave Waverly a chance to look at the Balderdash up close. If the circumstances had been any different, the sight of them could have given her a valid reason to sprint in the opposite direction. A lot of them looked like dead, disfigured things with outlandish features and blackened skin. The most unsettling thing about them were their eyes, which glowed different colors, like gems under sunlight. She passed by a certain creature with spindly limbs and a permanent scowl on its misshapen face, and her heartbeat quickened from looking into its eyes. One was bloodred and the other a soft green. In an uncomfortable way, it reflected the colors in her own.

Her attention darted away from it to focus on Zors.

Hawk stayed behind to chair the Balderdash and keep them in order whilst Ghost acted as the only escort. He said nothing throughout their walk, and it disturbed her greatly. There was nothing she could say to snap him out of his downcast mood, and soon, she gave up from being very much exhausted herself.

Zors led the way into a place where the ruins rose much taller in the forms of giant city walls and strongholds, monuments and other remnants that were once pinnacles, gables and spires. In short, every structure was either tapering majestically or had flattened to a board. It made one wonder if a great holy city had once stood in the present desolation.

In these parts, the stones were of ghostly white concrete similar to the fog that concealed their foundation. It was little comfort that nothing was blackened.

Through a long row of decimated porches and a courtyard filled with devastated statues of strange kinds, they emerged into what Waverly thought was a palace grounds. It felt almost like another illusion when she spotted blades of grass in the distance, but upon closer look, saw that they were not green at all. They grew in a repeated spiral around the entire perimeter, silvery gray and mostly lifeless. It was a wonder how such things even managed in an environment without sunlight, rain, or good air.

A statue – the last, but not least – stood in the centre of the grounds; of a man haunched over so badly that his entire torso made a perfect arc. The whole of his face had obviously been razed off, save for a portion of his nostril from which oily liquid oozed. Underneath the shade of his belly were more grass and a foreboding shade. Until she had stepped into it, Waverly did not realize that everywhere else was noticeably brighter.

Zors pinned his firebrand to the earth and got to work – unscrewing the top of a fat, cylindrical chamber jutting right out of the ground that was possibly a corkscrew of some strange kind.

"There are many passages to many places in this realm," He explained, groaning from strain. "You must know that these passages don't just lie around for anyone to find. It took some careless bravery and time to discover this one. A whole lot more of both to find out what lay beneath."

He shoved the lid to the side, and it fell to the ground with a thud so heavy that a tremor shook the leaves for a millisecond. It stunned that such strength was in him. He bent over to pick up the firebrand and held it to light the gap.

Waverly inched close to peep into the raised opening. No air came from it, making her feel queasy. "How am I supposed to get down? Jump?"

"Goodness, no." Ghost said for the first time with a light chuckle. When she turned to him, he cleared his throat and added solemnly, "You would break your legs."

"You'll use this." Zors offered, plucking off a single blade of grass. The length of it was the same as a quill.

"What?"

Carefully, he placed the grass on the rim of the cylinder. At first, nothing marveling happened. But then, the grass began to weave itself into a thick sort of rope, embedding first into the solid surface before lowering down into the hole. The longer it grew, the louder it whipped, until the sound seized when it was lost completely from sight.

"The Loathe is a cunning place," Zors said, "You may forget the reason you went down there to begin with, but I trust this isn't the first time you have dealt with mind-boggling magic."

He handed the firebrand over.

"How exactly do I recognize this Chay?" She questioned, receiving the torch.

"Isadorios is an oddity even in a place of oddities." He nodded once. "You will know."

Hefting the firebrand, she gazed into the entrance again. It was fairly small, about the same berth as a grown human, yet beset by an abominable air worse than that of The Coath.

Her nerves were already being flayed one after the other when Ghost floated forward, appearing solemn.

"I know you will come back." He said quietly and reached out to touch her hand, but he passed through as usual.

Regardless, the simple act calmed her down by a long chalk.

She drew in a sharp breath as she stepped onto the margin then handed the torch to Zors. "Hold this for a moment."

Very carefully, she slipped into a sitting position to grab hold of the rope then lowered a few ways before reaching out to receive the firebrand again. It was tedious work having to climb down a rope with one hand whilst cautiously holding onto a flaming torch in the other hand.

With every shuffle, she glanced up. Zors and Ghost both peered down at her since she was still within sight. The heavy pants from every breath she took would have filled the cavern if it were not so large. Nevertheless, she could see the walls of it faraway, or at least, she thought she could.

Nys was either obsessed with mist as an interior decoration or she really loved dealing out surprises. All around below were more whitish fog and a silence so still that Waverly's gentle shuffling started to sound like drumbeats inside a tunnel. The hollow seemed to go on forever, particularly with how slow she moved, and she wondered whether that was the sole reason why one wasted so much time going into and returning out of The Loathe.

Soon enough, her arm began to ache terribly. In her desperate desire for rest, should the torch come anywhere near the rope she would have to endure a nasty drop from a terrible height and break her legs as a result. That was the least kind of outcome she wanted.

It took every iota of willpower, but Waverly let go of the firebrand. The moment it was lost in the mist, she heaved a long sigh and clutched at the rope with both hands, pausing for a long rest. Glancing up, she could no longer see the entrance. It had either vanished or was too far away to see. The sight of Ghost overhead had been comforting to her and a kind of encouragement, but since he disappeared from view, regret over accepting Zors' offer began to eat away at her bit by bit.

Would they send someone after her if she took too long?

For a length of time, she pondered why Ghost had made no attempts to dissuade her from accepting to visit The Loathe. His refusal to mention even a thing about it was more frightening than being in a lonely, bottomless cavern. Then, it crossed her mind that inasmuch as the mission was careless and dangerous, the end goal was one that would greatly benefit Ghost himself. He, too, had very little memory of his life before death.

In fact, he seemed to be forgetting faster than everyone else because he could not even recall his own name. Irrespective of the fact that he showed reluctance over letting her uptake the task because he cared for her, he knew well that she was the only person in the whole of Nys who could survive the journey and emerge successful.

Lost in that thought, she did not register when the sole of her foot met solid wet ground. The unexpected contact jerked her mind back to the present. Around her feet, the mist cleared enough to allow a glimpse of what she had stepped on. A piece of large, flat gravel on the surface of clear, clean water.

She let go of the rope to stand properly and noticed flickers from the side. Again, the fog dispersed, revealing her torch half out because it had fallen partly into water. Using the scattered trail of gravels, she retrieved the burning stick and it ignited fully the moment it was lifted.

After a good flex and stretching of her aching shoulders, she made use of the fire to constantly clear a path ahead.

The bottom of the cavern turned out to host a tributary of sorts, though where the water sourced from was a mystery. Firm stones were scattered across the surface to form walkways, easy ones at that. The mouth of the cavern opened out into a perfectly normal landscape that, at first, looked shockingly like a place Waverly had visited once before. In the corner, a great number of stone steps cut a narrow path to enable her descend the cavern.

On the ground level, she glanced up and saw that she had emerged out of a depression in an unbelievably tall rock. Steely waters gushed from it in alarming currents, emptying into a long river. Something told her it was the same one river that flowed through and through inside the whole of Nys.

Opting to first evaluate the new landscape before venturing into it, she halted and took a look around. The first thing she noticed was the strange turf on which she stood. A cold carpet of silvery gray verdure. The bushes behind it were the same and so were the growing things; some flowers even bore platinum petals, like aging hair. Despite the lack of color, the environment was oddly appealing, and she found that with each passing second she grew more and more comfortable from just being in it.

Tempted by an urge to rest, she strolled over to the nearest thicket and laid down under, curled into a lying position. Her eyelids grew heavy and heavier still the more she fought to keep them from drooping.

At last, when she was unable to hold back any longer, she gave into and drowned in the deepest slumber.

The skies overhead – a canvas of white clouds – boomed, as if giant explosions had set off there. Streaks of color passed continuously through their folds, casting a dull beam across where Waverly laid still fast asleep.

After this, an unknown amount of time passed and more with it before she finally stirred. Her eyes drew apart.

First, the sight of the land abroad was strange and though she remembered with passing seconds what the place was, the reason why she was there felt a puzzle.

In an attempt to rise, her eyes fell on the back of her hand. She examined it then the other, then the one again and felt her pulse quicken. Like a frightened doe, she rose to her feet, taking note of how her vision was unsteady, and inched close to the river.

In the steely, glass-like surface of rippling water, she glimpsed a face that set off a frightful alarm in her. Of course, the face was only hers, but it appeared to have matured by a few years, based on the standard of Human time. The ends of her hair fell to reach below her ribs and her dress was twice shorter, yet just as ragged.

Still flabbergasted by it all, she hiked down the turf, keeping close to the river. At a point where the bushes grew less denser, she caught sight of an opening. It was not a very obvious gap, but having looked so intently, she noticed it. The prickly bushes were trapped in frost, and when she emerged on the other side of them, she saw why.

It was snowing.

The sudden sight of winter forced her legs to a halt. All around and beyond was a wood generously covered in snow, leaving whiteness and a strong chill in the environment. Treading with caution, she dragged bare feet forward, shivering with each step. All of the trees and vegetation were buried in snow therefore not making for much to look at with interest; though in the back of her mind, wonders crossed and puzzled her even worse than before because the further in she went, the more she forgot things.

Her walk soon came to a stop when something queer caught her eye. A mirror – hung upon a tree.

In her confused state, she gave no reactions when from the corner of the same tree, a man emerged. A young man, in fact. She had no idea who he was neither did she recognize his face, but immediately, her insides fluttered like a thousand soaring butterflies. That alone told her that the stranger was perhaps someone she had once known, perfectly, and was somewhat close to even though they only just met.

With brave and rather graceful shambling, she approached the stranger, whose eyes had stayed on hers since his emergence.

On getting closer, she saw that the young man had great wings coming out of his back. Before she was conscious of it, her hands had cupped his face.

"I know you." She whispered, ransacking her brain for memory, but there was none.

The young man smiled. A small smile.  "Of course you do."

Her gaze left his own with a squint to pick out the queer surroundings once more. "What is this place?"

"I was afraid you would ask." He replied, reclaiming her attention. "I do not know."

"What's that doing here?" Her chin slightly lifted toward the mirror.

"Odder than normal odd, is it not?" He chuckled, stepping aside because he stood in the way of the looking glass.

It was a fancy mirror; the square shaped kind that could be wedged against walls so one could look at their self from head to foot, except that this mirror was many inches shorter, allowing only view of one's head and shoulders.

A gasp came out of Waverly when she drew near to it and saw changes in her face. Changes that she liked very much. Her skin was next to flawless, without anything as much as a dot of blemish or inch of scar; her lips were cherry red, and her eyes were a perfect green on both sides framed by two rows of coal black lashes. On her head, there was not a strand of hair out of place – hair that fell in fat, lush waves of ink black.

The more she looked on, the greater her features became alluring.

She placed supple fingers against rosy cheeks and chuckled. "I glow."

The stranger, who stood quietly by the side, came forward, until his breath caressed her neck. "As ripened cherries in spring," He pressed his face into her bare shoulder and her insides rattled in response.

"As a starry night sky." He added in a soft mumble.

"I want to stay this way forever." She whispered to him. He looked up and their faces came so close that she clearly saw the faint trace of a stubble above his lip.

His eyes traveled to the mirror and she followed suit. Another gasp came as the heightened pulchritude began to fade rapidly, wearing down to how her face actually looked – tired and depressed, tangled hair; broken and imperfect skin as pale as the snow itself, and bleached lips.

Altogether, she looked like death.

Shutting her eyes in disdain, she turned away from the glass with a repulsive scowl.

"It is only in your mind that you look how you wish to." The stranger offered. "Yet, it does not mean that how you already look is unbefitting."

The rate at which anger spread inside her chest made her indecisive for a long time. The only thing that rang constantly in her head was how much she hated her face, and how she wished it was never hers in the first place and a thousand other horrible things that would have sounded insulting had they come from someone else's lips.

Instead of a response, she marched across the crunchy snow, away from the stranger; though the sound of extra footsteps from behind told her he was following.

Mindless of his company, she traipsed on ahead, and whilst she did, she forgot all about her anger and what had caused it to begin with. In fact, confusion began to set upon her again bit by bit, until she came to a stop, wondering where in the world she was trooping off to.

Curiously, she turned and found the winged man a few feet off. In this side of the forest, the trees were not so close to one another and she suspected it was a glade.

"How did I get here?" She frowned, peering about in deep bepuzzlement.

The stranger gently drove his hands into his pockets and gave a small pout. "I believe you walked."

"No," She stuttered a little. "I mean, yes, but how did I. . . get here? What am I doing here?"

Asking questions seemed to drive any possible answers away, and Waverly felt utterly helpless and frustrated when the stranger shrugged in a manner that meant he was just as clueless as she was.

"Oh, bother my gimped memory!" She lamented, placing an arm over her head.

The stranger came up to her side and held out an open hand. The whole of him radiated warmth, like a toasty fireplace.

"Perhaps if you took my hand," He suggested kindly. "It would be of some help."

It was not a surely great idea to take a stranger's hand, but this stranger had a solemn countenance about him that she found a tad hypnotizing. Choosing to confound it all, she accepted and he gave her fingers a little squeeze.

Then, her whole body suffered a most shocking tingle and her eyes widened.