Breathe. Breathe.

'Are you okay?'

Fuck. Just breathe. Stop staring. Do something.

'I - I...'

I couldn't get the words out. I could see them in my head. I remembered how to form words on my tongue, how each one sounded, but I just couldn't say them.

'Oh dear,' said the Erelim, frowning. 'Are you unwell? Can I get you something?'

'What?'

Of all the things I could have said, and the only word I could push out through my tightened throat was what. It didn't even sound much like what either. More like a mouse-like squeak that vaguely started with the letter W.

What's wrong with its eyes?

The Erelim's eyes looked, well, just like eyes. Normal human eyes, with crow's feet puckering the skin at the edges. Whatever the Hell Ethan had meant by not screaming when I saw the eyes, I had no idea, because I was looking right at them, into them, and I was seeing nothing terrible or freaky. They were just eyes, albeit eyes filled with a weighty concern.

'A glass of water? Tea? I might have some camomile somewhere.'

The Erelim turned as if to go, his feet shuffling against the floor, before stopping and scratching at his head. There were thumbholes in the cardigan sleeves and he had hooked his thumbs through them on both sides, the chunky knit of the wool covering part of his hands, like some kind of weird half-mitten. He looked back at me, anxiety crinkling his face.

'Do you like camomile tea? I don't want to give you something you don't like. I couldn't possibly forgive myself. Would you like a cup of camomile or something else entirely? Water. Did I say water?' He frowned again and blinked, as if it pained him to recall. Deep lines furrowed his brow, his eyes narrowing. 'Who are you?' he demanded. 'Why are you here?'

A chittering noise erupted from one of the aisles high above. It sounded like birds.

Birds.

I inhaled.

The macaw. The cockatoo. The rainbow-billed toucan. The scarlet ibis.

Exhaled.

'C-Casey,' I stammered. 'My name is Casey.'

The Erelim's face was blank, unreadable. Then, the smile appeared again in full-force, eyes misting over with glassy joy.

'Casey,' he repeated. 'Case-eeeeee.' His mouth stretched wide as he tried out the word, elongating the vowel with some glee. 'I like that. Yes, I do. It suits you. You look like a Casey.'

'I do?'

He nodded, grinning. 'Yes. You really do. Although I'm not sure I've ever met a Casey before, so I'm not entirely certain what a Casey should look like, but I really think that you are it. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I believe I'm right. You are definitely how a Casey should look.' He paused, almost breathless from his gushing speech, before tilting his head to one side, his face falling. 'My goodness,' he exclaimed, slapping his palm against his forehead in dismay. 'Here's me prattling on like an old fool and I haven't even offered you a drink! I'm a terrible host, terrible, terrible...'

The Erelim looked genuinely stricken as he shook his head, his shoulders drooping, his mouth now moving wordlessly, but I was certain he was mouthing terrible, terrible, terrible.

'Camomile!' I blurted out, sure that I needed to say something to regain his attention.

He looked at me, questioningly, and I stepped forward - actually stepped closer to him - and smiled.

'Camomile,' I said again, as calmly as I could. 'You offered me a cup of camomile tea and I accepted.'

'Did I? he said, his face brightening once more. 'Yes, I did, didn't I? Of course, I did. Okay, dear, come along.'

He began shuffling away, his back slightly bent in an arthritic-hunch.

I hesitated, looking behind me towards where Ethan had disappeared into the shadows. Where had he gone? How long would he be? Was he even coming back?

'What's the matter?' the Erelim said, his voice rising a little, each word pronounced sharply. 'Is there somebody back there? Are you on your own?'

He'd seen Ethan. He must have seen him. There was no way he could have missed him because he'd been looking right at us and if, by some miracle, he hadn't, then he must have at least heard me calling after Ethan as he ran away.

The Erelim blinked as he looked at me, a furious tic-like fluttering of his lids.

I shook my head and smiled again, sure that he would see through it and notice how the corners of my mouth were twitching nervously. 'No, no,' I assured. 'There's no one. I just thought I heard something.' I pointed back down the aisle. 'It's so dark. I don't like it, it makes me hear things that aren't there.'

The Erelim's face fell instantly, and for a moment, I thought he might even start to cry. There was a desperate sadness in his eyes, his mouth dropping open with dismay. Walking to my side, he lifted my hand, holding it very gently in his. A whisper of a gasp escaped his lips and he withdrew, only to do it again, this time, grasping it more firmly and patting it in what seemed a grandfatherly gesture. His skin was fine sandpaper against mine and, up close, I could see tiny particles of dust, floating in his beard and hair, and sticking to his clothes. There was a musty smell about him, not totally unpleasant, but it reminded me of old books and antique parchment.

'Dearest Casey,' he said, looking distraught. 'You mustn't be afraid of the dark. You simply mustn't. Although, if you think you heard something, it's highly likely that you did. This old place creaks and moans worse than the deck of a Spanish galleon on the rough seas, and don't even get me started on some of the things we keep here. I constantly have to tell them to hush up and be quiet. It's really rather irritating at times.' He was still patting my hand. 'But you are not to fret about the dark. I can see everything, trust me and there is nothing for you to fear here.'

The smile returned.

'Did you say camomile or green tea? I forget. Camomile is better I think. Calming, I believe. Shall we go?'

Dropping my hand, he held out his arm, gesturing for me to link mine with his, and although my inner air-raid siren was screaming at me not to, without Ethan here, I didn't see what choice I had. As soon as I did rest my arm on his - in a gesture that reminded me of the posh people in those Jane Austen films that Claire always liked - the Erelim sighed, a deep exhale of satisfaction and happiness.

'Where are we going?' I asked, as we began to walk, or shamble, as seemed to be his preferred pace.

The Erelim, who didn't stop looking at me the whole time, his eyes drifting in awe from where our arms were linked, up to my face and then back down again, as if he couldn't quite believe I was even real, smiled again, a lazy, dream-filled smile.

'Oh, it's not far,' he said. 'Just my little room down here. It's not much, I'm afraid and quite messy, I'm ashamed to say. It's been such a terribly long time since I had any visitors, but not to worry, you're here now.' He patted my hand again, although I had a feeling it was to reassure himself that I was still there, more than anything else. 'We can have a nice cup of tea and you'll be feeling right as rain again in no time.'

I wasn't sure a cup of tea was going to stop my heart hammering in my chest or stop me from thinking about how I was going to string Ethan up by his balls if he ever bothered to come back, but I had the distinct feeling that drinking the tea was going to make the Erelim happy at least.

Passing by the aisles, I couldn't help but glance this way and that, my gaze drawn to all the things stacked and crammed into every available space on the shelves. One aisle held nothing but suitcases, in all shapes and sizes, somehow slotted together like one giant game of Tetris. The next seemed to be all jewellery; chains and cuffs and rings, pendants, medallions, lockets and gems of every colour, that sparkled under what little light the spotlights offered from above.

The next aisle however, stored nothing quite as interesting, or beautiful.

'Oh, bloody Hell,' I gasped, stopping and clapping my other hand over my mouth in shock. 'Are they real?'

'Hmm?' the Erelim said, looking a little bit dazed as he dragged his gaze away from me and in the same direction as my own. 'Oh, those. Why, yes, quite real and perfectly harmless now. I promise there's no need to be concerned. Come, I'll show you.'

I wasn't concerned, not in the slightest, certainly not in the way he thought I was and I definitely didn't want to take a closer look. I was horror-struck. Repulsed. Unable to wrench my morbidly-curious gaze away.

Severed hands, cut off at the wrist, floated in large jars.

Each jar was plugged with a wide cork stopper, sealed with wax that had dripped and hardened around the rim. They were lined up along the many shelves on either side of the aisle, until all I could see was row upon endless row of pale puffy hands, floating like ghostly apparitions under the dim Vault lights. Each hand was suspended in clear fluid, although in some of the jars further down the aisle, the outer edges of the hand blurred in a haze of cloudy liquid, as if they had been here for some time.

The Erelim picked up the first jar. The hand inside shuddered in the thick liquid. The flesh was frilly where it had been severed. Jagged bone protruded from the wrist. Whatever method had been used to cut the hand from the arm, it didn't look like it had been a clean amputation, but it was the fingertips that drew my main focus. They were blackened, but not charred. Instead they looked almost as if they had been dipped in ink. As I cast my eyes along the rows, I noticed that they were all the same.

The old man rapped against the glass with his knuckles. 'Hello?' he said. 'Hello? Anyone in there?'

He chuckled, but it sounded hollow and cold, and I took a step backwards, a movement he noticed immediately, his head snapping up, eyes widening in alarm.

'Oh, no, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. Just my little joke.' He put the jar back into its place on the shelf, looking ashamed by his warped attempt at humour. 'Like I said, it's been a very long time since I had a guest to entertain.'

'W-what are they?' I said. 'I mean, who did they belong to?'

The Erelim's head cocked slightly to one side, his keen eyes viewing me with curiosity.

'Why, dear,' he said, sounding genuinely surprised that I didn't have a clue. 'These are the hands of the Shedim. The Unclean Ones. The Fallen.'

My horrified gaze swept the entire expanse of the aisle. My skin prickled with dread.

'Demons,' I whispered. 'These are Demon hands.'

The old man's face brightened instantly. 'Yes,' he said, happily and seemingly unaware of my horror. 'That's right! You've got it. A gold star for you!' Nodding, almost to himself, he turned and surveyed the row, sweeping his arm out as if presenting the display of severed hands to me. 'Behold the spoils of the Endless War. What you see before you are the hands of every Shedim slain since the time after the Fall.'

'The fall of what?'

'You mean the Fall of whom,' he corrected. 'The Fall of Lucifer, of course. The Great Betrayer. First of the Unclean. Bringer of Eternal Darkness.'

My mind flickered back to the image of the Roman Lucifer on the wall in the tomb.

'I thought Lucifer was meant to be the Light-Bearer?'

'Utter nonsense,' he spluttered. 'Complete fabrication. The First of the Unclean was never the Light-Bearer. He brought nothing but chaos and mutiny and doomed everyone that believed in him. But fear not.' He reached out and patted my hand again. 'He is nevermore and can do no harm now.'

A terrible thought struck me, a hit of ice straight to the veins.

'Wait,' I said. 'Do any of these jars contain Lucifer's hands?'

'What a trophy that would be.' He scowled. 'Alas, we do not know the whereabouts of the Betrayer's body. There was a great battle and his remains were spirited away by his most loyal ones. Nothing but ash now, I should imagine. A fitting end for him.' He scratched at his bushy, grey beard, dislodging dust-particles that floated around his chin, before gently falling onto his cardigan. 'Now, what were we doing?' His eyes sparkled with recollection. 'Ah, yes! Tea!'

Taking my arm again, he began to lead me away from the macabre trophy shelf, humming softly to himself as he did so, a contented smile on his face as he looked down to where our arms were linked. I glanced back once, a sick feeling taking root in my stomach.

'Do you have a name?' I asked, attempting to banish all thoughts of severed hands from my head as we walked down the central aisle.

'Hmm?' He looked at me, puzzled. 'A name?'

'Yeah,' I said. 'I told you my name. It seems only right that you tell me yours if we're to drink tea together.'

He stopped abruptly and clutched a handful of his hair.

'Do you know, you are absolutely right. A gentleman and a lady should never take tea together without the proper introductions.' He wrinkled his nose. 'Now... a name. A name. What is my name? I'm not entirely sure.' Frowning, he began to blink furiously as he glanced around in confusion. 'Oh dear,' he muttered, looking back to me, his expression stark and panicked. 'I don't know it. If I don't know my name, we can't have tea. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be proper. You said it yourself.'

He was unravelling. With just a few words, I had picked at the thread of his composure and now he was falling apart, his confusion and panic sending him into a blind freefall. His head jerked and for a brief second, I saw the flesh around his eyes bulge, as if there was something there, moving around under the skin.

My own panic rising, I squeezed his hand quickly. 'It's okay,' I insisted. 'Maybe we can give you a name? You said I look like a Casey. Maybe we can give you a name that suits you?'

He stopped. Blinked once. Stared at me. Confusion still lingered, but then, a glimmer of hope cut through to the surface.

'Give me a name? You would do that?'

I smiled and squeezed his hand again. 'Yes. If you'd like me to?'

'And then we could have tea together?'

'Tea. Yeah, of course we can. All the tea you like.'

The Erelim exhaled a deep breath. 'Oh yes,' he said, sounding relieved. 'I would like that very much.'

Dropping my hand, he stepped back, unfurling his hunched back to stand as straight as he possibly could and puffed out his chest, like a soldier awaiting command from his superior. 'Go ahead. Give me a name. A wonderful name.'

'Okay,' I said. 'Okay. I think...' I let my gaze wander over his face. 'I think you look like a... a...'

'Yes?' he said, eagerly.

'Albert. You look like an Albert.'

Bloody Hell, Brogan. Fucking Albert?

'Albert.' The Erelim tried out the word, rolling it on his tongue as if he'd never heard the name before. 'Al-bert. Hmm, okay, Albert it is.' He performed a strange, stiff little bow from the waist. 'I'm Albert. How do you do? Pleased to meet your acquaintance.'

Holding out his hand, he grinned. I stared at it and he nodded, urging me to take it.

'Oh, right.' I shook it. 'Pleased to... yeah, pleased to meet you, Albert. I'm Casey.'

'Yes. You said. Right! Tea it is!'

Severed hands in jars, an old man called Albert and camomile tea. I was starting to think I'd been thrown down the rabbit-hole instead of a wormhole and was about to wander into the most twisted Madhatter's tea-party that had ever existed.

By the time we finally reached the Erelim's room, I was certain of it.

He hadn't been lying about the state of the room, but to call it messy had been an understatement. To call it a room had been misleading. I was sure it was a room, or had been at some point, but if it had walls, I could see none, or at least none that resembled actual walls. In fact, I could barely see anything, apart from all manner of junk packed into every available space, piled high up to the ceiling. Stacks of wooden chairs, boxes, old TV sets, saucepans, books, piles of newspapers. It was a hoarder's paradise. I shrank back from touching anything, in fear it might all collapse like one big domino chain and I'd get crushed under ten tons of useless shit that he'd been storing in here for millennia.

In what little space there was in the centre of the room, there was a small round table draped in a yellowing lace tablecloth. Two armchairs sat either side, the quilted velvet padding worn and frayed.

'Sit, sit,' he insisted, pulling out one of the chairs.

I sat gingerly on the edge as he pushed it back in, warily eyeing the jumble all around me and praying silently that it wouldn't chose this moment to cave in. The old man shuffled over to a small gas stove, on which there sat an old-fashioned tin kettle. He popped the lid, seemed satisfied there was enough water and lit the burner, before busying himself getting two tea cups and tea bags from a small jar on the side. All the while, he kept glancing back at me, almost as if to make sure I was still there, smiling and nodding every time he saw that I was.

Once the tea was made, the Erelim - now known as Albert - brought the cups to the table, his hands shaking slightly, the cup clacking against the saucer. Placing mine in front of me, he sat in the other chair, staring at me in wonder and cradling his own cup in his hands, almost as if he had forgotten it was even there.

'Drink,' he said, finally. 'I do hope it's to your liking. Please say it is.' There was such a desperation to please in his voice, that I almost felt sorry for him.

I sipped at the fragrant liquid, smiling my appreciation, even though I hated the taste. Coffee would have been better. Vodka preferable. A fuck load of vodka.

'Thank you,' I said.

He hadn't stopped looking at me. Hadn't taken one sip of his own tea. I was getting creeped out. Seriously, creeped out.

'So... Albert...' I began. Talk shit to it, Ethan had said. Talk shit. Like it was easy. Like sitting here, sipping tea with a creature that kept the amputated hands of demons in jars was easy.

'You gave me that name,' the Erelim said, reminding me or reminding himself, I wasn't sure.

'I did, yeah.' I smiled, hoping that I was managing to stop the anxiety I was feeling from twisting my smile into a grimace. 'It suits you.'

'It suits me,' he repeated. 'Do you like the tea?'

'Very much.'

Silence followed, an eerie, uncomfortable silence that had me shifting in my chair, intermittingly sipping at the tea. From somewhere I could hear a soft ticking sound and my gaze drifted to a small carriage clock fenced behind the spokes of a bicycle wheel, close to where the Erelim sat.

A couple of minutes passed, and I realised he hadn't blinked once. He looked spellbound, although what it was about me that could possibly have mesmerised him, I had no clue.

'So,' I said, wracking my brains for something to say. I wasn't good at small-talk. Never had been. 'You said it's been a long time since you'd had any guests?'

Finally, a blink. A twitch.

'Excuse me?' he said. His voice sounded far-off, like he was still wandering in some distant bliss-filled dream.

'You said you don't get many visitors.'

'I did?' he said, the smile faltering. 'Um... no. No visitors. Apart from...' He glanced down at his cup, looking surprised to see it there. He took a sip.

'Apart from who?' I prompted.

'Oh, um... I forget their names. They come here to... you know...' He trailed off. Took another sip and smacked his lips together. 'Do you like the tea?'

'Yes, it's good, thanks. Your visitors, you said they come to do what?'

He stared at me as if expecting me to finish the question for him, before he smiled, nodding as the recollection dawned on him. 'Oh yes, yes, sorry. The Powers. They are the Keepers of History.'

'So, they're the ones who bring all the stuff you store in the Vaults?'

'Yes. That's correct.' A troubled expression crossed his face. 'You know, I'm not entirely sure I should be speaking to you of such things.'

'It's fine, really. I know about the Powers.'

If in doubt, lie your arse off. Now that's something I was good at.

'You do?' His face lit up. 'Well, that's okay then. Casey is such a lovely name, you know.'

'Thanks, I'm glad you like it. And nobody else comes to visit you?'

The Erelim pursed his lips, thinking. 'There was another. Such a long time ago. I was hoping she would come back. She never did.' His right eye began to twitch. 'You won't leave, will you?'

I stared, just a little too long, horribly captivated by the pulsing of the skin around his eye socket.

The sound of his cup clattering onto the table snapped me out of it. The saucer had cracked.

'No, of course not. I won't leave,' I said. 'I like it here.'

'Do you?' He beamed. 'You know, you remind me of her a little? Although there's something different about you that I can't quite place.' He leant forward, his eyes scanning my face. 'What is it?'

I laughed softly, but it was bravado, an attempt to shrug off his unsettling curiosity. 'Oh, nothing, honestly. I'm really not different in any way. Could I get another cup of tea?'

He pulled back, staring down at the empty tea cup in my hands. 'Tea? Goodness, yes, I'm so sorry. You need another cup of tea. How positively terrible of me not to notice.'

Taking my cup, he made me another tea using the still-hot water and on handing it to me, took his seat again at the table. I noticed how he didn't bother to make himself one this time. He just sat, with his hands in his lap, watching my every move like a child seeing everything for the first time, as I raised the cup to my lips and sipped nervously. The second cup tasted even worse than the first.

'So, what do you do here, Albert?'

'Me?'

I smiled reassuringly. 'Yes. You.'

'Oh, I...' He rubbed at his forehead with the pad of his thumb, confused again. 'I... well, I make tea. Is it good tea? I hope you like it.'

Ethan had been right. Whatever magic the maledicti could weald over the Erelim, whatever magic I possessed, it was working. The old man was forgetting his sacred duty. Looking at his tormented face, I suddenly wasn't sure how I felt about that. It seemed cruel somehow, to see him so lost in the spell that he could barely remember who or what he was.

'It's good tea. The best.'

'Really?' he said, cheerfully. 'Oh, I am glad. You will stay, won't you?'

'Of course.' I put the cup down carefully on the table. 'Albert, I was wondering if I could ask you something. Those hands...'

He frowned. 'Hands?' He looked down at his own, turning them palm up and studying them closely.

'No, the ones in the jars. The ones that belonged to the Shedim.'

'Oh. Those,' he said, dropping his hands back into his lap. 'Yes?'

'What made the fingers go black? It's just I noticed on every hand, the fingertips were completely black. Was it something that happened when the... well, when the hands were removed?'

The Erelim blinked, slower this time. 'No, no, that's just how they are.'

It was my turn to look confused. 'No, they're not. They're just normal hands. Like mine. Like yours.'

'Why would you think that?' He shifted forward in his chair, gripping the edge of table, knuckles whitening through his sandpaper skin. 'How do you know that? Have you seen one?'

'W-what?' I stammered. Think, Casey, think.

The Erelim's dazed confusion had faded as quickly as it had appeared, and he was now staring quite wildly, anger spotting his cheeks just above the edges of his fuzzy beard.

'The last one, that woman, she came here with one. I remember now. She told me that she was lost and that she was all alone, but she wasn't alone, she brought him. And he stole from me. He stole it.'

He was talking about Ethan's parents. Fear swelled inside me. I was losing the Erelim again. I shouldn't have mentioned the bloody hands. I shouldn't have let my own nosiness lead him back to his duty, because by doing that I had led him away from his fascination of me and plunged him deep into his memories of when Lucifer and his wife had broken into the Vault and stolen the blood of the First.

I had to do something. And quick.

My hand darted across to grab his, and I smoothed my palm over his knuckles to soothe him. 'Albert, listen to me. I did see one. I did. But he tried to kill me. He chased me, and I was so scared. I thought I was going to die. He reached for me, tried to drag me towards him and that's when I saw his hands. They didn't look like those ones in the jars. I swear, they didn't. You do believe me, don't you, Albert? That's your name. You remember I gave you that name, right?'

The Erelim looked down at my hand on his. 'You gave me that name. You called me Albert.'

'Yes.' I smiled through the panic. 'I did. And we just drank tea together. You make great tea, Albert.'

'I make tea.'

'Yes.'

'I make...' he trailed off, closing his eyes.

Something was moving there. Under his eyelids. The skin was bulging, pulsating.

'Albert?' I whispered. 'Albert, wake up, come back. Please.'

The Erelim's eyes snapped open.

All of them.

For where there had been just one pair - one very normal-looking pair of eyes - I now counted at least ten, covering his face from his cheekbones to his forehead. They didn't even look the same, almost as if they'd been acquired from different people - different shapes, different colours - but all were fixed upon me, and when one set blinked, they all blinked.

Something moved against my fingers and I snatched my hand away, unable to stifle a gasp as I saw another eye had appeared on the top of both his hands and I knew it had been the eyeballs I had felt brushing against my fingertips.

His head jerked violently to one side, the corners of his mouth drooping down as if his skin had suddenly turned to molten wax.

When he spoke, his voice sounded strange, deeper, thicker. 'You are different,' he said. 'I can see it.' The eyes blinked in unison, the tic-like judder returning.

I swallowed. 'You can?'

'Yes. I told you. I see everything. You hide it well, but I seeeeeeee it.'

Cracks were appearing on his skin. Tiny, thread-like fissures like veins, snaking all over his face and neck and hands.

I stood abruptly, the legs of the heavy armchair squealing against the floor as I pushed it back. In my haste to get up, I knocked the table, sending my tea cup tumbling, which rolled and fell, splintering into shards by my feet.

'What are you doing?' the Erelim said, raising his voice. 'You can't leave. You said you wouldn't.'

From somewhere in the Vault, I heard a loud whoomph and the junkyard-walls of the Erelim's room shuddered. A book fell from behind me, catching me on the shoulder as it tumbled to the floor, making me yelp.

I glanced around in panic as the room began to shake. Other objects began to cascade from the moving walls. The bicycle wheel near the Erelim dislodged and tumbled, the carriage clock following close behind. The glass of the clock-face shattered on impact.

The noise in the Vault resounded again, closer this time, a boom of thunder that brought with it a hurricane of high-pitched shrieking that was so loud it made me clap my hands over my ears. The Erelim was standing now too and his whole body was trembling as he lifted his head, his face pointed towards the ceiling. The eyes were all staring wildly, and I watched in horror as each eyeball flipped back to reveal a blank milky-whiteness. His mouth dropped open, stretching impossibly, and he let out a howl of unfathomable anguish and fury.

'You lied,' he screeched. 'You lied, you lied. He is here. He is here again.'

As soon as The Erelim said the words, I felt the air move, sweeping through the enclosed space. Everything started to collapse. Instinctively, I crouched down, throwing my arms up to protect myself from the tumbling junk that miraculously never hit me.

It was all hanging in the air, some of it suspended just inches above my head.

My attention snapped towards the door, where Ethan was standing, his arms outstretched, palms outwards, energy pulsing from his hands. There was a small gash to his temple and blood was trickling down the side of his face. A battered leather satchel with a long strap was slung across his body.

'Now would be a really good time to go, Casey,' he said, through gritted teeth, his jaw flexing with the strain.

He didn't need to tell me twice. Scrambling up from the floor, I staggered towards him, ducking under the pulses of energy that were ripping through the air. Glancing back, I saw the old man was braced against the onslaught of Ethan's power, leaning forward at an impossible angle as he fought to hold his ground, his many eyes blazing with anger. As I reached Ethan, he grabbed my hand and we ran together; the shrieks of the Erelim haunting our every step, a crescendo of pain and anger that sent chills deep into my bones.

Once inside the main area of the Vault, I naturally tried to veer right towards the wormhole from which we'd entered, but Ethan shook his head and began to lead us in the opposite direction.

A terrifying rumble boomed behind us and I craned my neck to look, eyes widening in shock.

It was like looking at a pool of water, suspended on its side, stretching the entire width of the Vault, from one side to the other, from floor to ceiling. Ripples undulated violently on the surface, giant waves of energy that heaved and surged, rising and falling. The noise reverberated again, now a constant hammering, and the centre of the pool bowed outwards.

I couldn't help but slow my pace, half-hypnotised by the sight of it.

Ethan grabbed hold of my jacket, whirling me around to face him. 'Remember when I said it would be a really good time to go? I meant it. Unless you want to face what's coming through the other side of that.' He jabbed a finger in the direction of the wall of energy.

When I looked again, to my horror, I saw them.

There were creatures on the other side. Hundreds. Thousands maybe. They filled every space, every gap, pushing, pummelling, a moving mass of bodies, arms, faces, wings. The centre stretched like elastic, thinning out where the creatures were concentrated the most. Clawed hands pushed at it from the other side. Again, and again they were hitting the forcefield, throwing themselves at it, striking it, attacking it.

We began to run, hurtling down the aisle, but we hadn't gone far before we were thrown forwards, the force of the explosion slamming into us from behind like a raging tornado. We were swept along, tumbling, crashing to the floor. I collided with one of the plinths, the bust of the Erelim smashing into jagged fragments. Dazed, I tried to get up. Clambering onto my hands and knees, I stared blurry-eyed at the forcefield which was now torn right through the middle, as the creatures teemed through the gap.

They were a legion. An army. A never-ending tide of scarred, molten faces, of wide mouths filled with spindle-sharp teeth, of claws and of wings that beat at the air.

The Powers were here, and they were coming for us.

***