Baron Dimanche was quite pleased with himself by the time they all agreed to bed down for the night in the dorm they'd been brought to by Quoth's otherworldly magic. He'd created three quick-healing potions for all of them, a handful of powders that created cones of flames, and half a dozen chameleon elixirs, which would render the user invisible to all but the highest-powered magical detection.
Fed and hydrated, they all agreed that the best way to ready themselves for whatever came next was to relax while they could, and try not to psyche themselves out. When everyone fell asleep, three of four of them slumbered peacefully.
Byron awoke after a couple of hours, sitting up on the edge of the bed, staring out the window over the darkened countryside. He couldn't remember all of the details about the dreams he'd been shocked awake by, recalling only that they made him feel hunted, cornered. His mind had fought back by escaping into consciousness. He quietly got to his feet, careful not to disturb Kathy.
He eased his way out into the commons room, where he sat before the fireplace, its flames still burning despite not being fed wood for kindling. Leaned back in an armchair before it, he stared blankly into the fire, letting his thoughts drift freely. His right hand slipped into his pocket, seemingly of its own accord, and returned with the index card from The Forger. Without looking at it, without thought, he flicked his wrist forward, tossing the card into the flames.
His eyes bored into the fire, watching as the card evaporated into blackened ashes and smoke. The smoke curled into the shape of a key, the ashes into the form of a door, glowing golden in the flames. A voice he didn't recognize whispered out of the fireplace, "Rememberrrr," fading away with the ashes and smoke.
Byron blinked, shook his head, and wondered what he was doing out in the commons room. He shuffled back into the dorm room, slipped back into bed with Kathy, and drifted soundlessly off to sleep.
Morning brought them all a pleasant surprise. Two silver food carts had been brought into their room, a note writ on faded parchment atop the covers on the one beside Kathy and Byron's bed. 'It's been a while since I had good company. Enjoy! -Salag Trum.'
"We barely spent five minutes wit' de little cat-man," said Dimanche after Kathy read the note aloud. "If we're good company, I shuddah to t'ink what some of his bad company has been like."
"Don't touch any of the food yet," Daggeuro said in a whisper. "Baron, do you still have that gatcha powder?"
"Always," the voodoo man said, pulling a green pouch from his bag and holding it aloft. "Everyone, take a pinch and blow it ovah your food. If it bursts, den somet'ing on de plate would kill you. I can't use it on everybody's food. Somet'ing on my plate might be poisonous to me, but not to humans. It only works on your own breath." Everybody took a pinch, claimed a covered plate, and uncovered their food.
Crazy Salag Trum might have been, but he was not unskilled. The food all looked professional-grade, and none of the powder reacted, so it was clean. They all tucked in with a vengeance, devouring the food in minutes. When all was finished, Byron wheeled the carts back out into the commons room and returned, patting his stomach.
"Did everyone sleep well," Daggeuro asked. The other three nodded, though Byron recalled waking up in the middle of the night and just sitting by the commons room fire for a short bit. He said nothing of this, though. "All right. Today, we stick together at all times, keep our gear with us. There's no telling from this point when we might be pulled to another place within Quoth's pocket realm. Salag Trum may know how to avoid that, but we can't afford the luxury, not while King Ovin is lost here." He cleared his throat, sighed. "I, I sense he is close, and not alone. Gatech, the Dragon God, is with him."
Kathy almost squealed with excitement. She too had sensed Ovin and another massive power close at hand, and knowing it was the missing god sent her mood through the roof. Whatever Quoth was, he had his limitations. He couldn't just kill gods if he wanted. Of course, given time, this pocket realm might kill anything, but all was survivable, if one was careful and skilled enough.
"Shall we check out that library, then," Byron asked. The others nodded, grabbed their gear, and hit the bathrooms for their morning necessary. That done, they moved in a tight line through the halls of Hogwarts toward the library.
They rounded a corner and stopped, weapons coming out as they caught sight of another group down the corridor, also drawing steel. It took a moment before Daggeuo said, "Stand down. It's a reflection." Kathy watched as Daggeuro sheathed Boon and Bane, and his reflection did the same. The mirror blocked off the entire corridor, leaving no way around. The group approached it cautiously, everyone still on alert.
"I don't remember anything like this in the books," Kathy said, stopping a foot away from the mirror wall.
"Hagrid's cottage wasn't empty in those either," Byron added. "Don't forget, this place isn't an exact replica." He reached out, touched the glass, which was cold to the senses. Kathy turned around, back the way they'd come, and gasped.
"Um, guys? We may be in trouble." The three men turned around, and saw that a similar mirror now blocked the path they'd come from. Kathy turned back around, and saw a new problem- Daggeuro and Dimanche were no longer reflecting off of the first mirror. She looked right, at Byron, who was floating toward the mirror through the air, limp as a doll. "Byron!"
Kathy blacked out a moment later, feeling herself being lifted and pulled through the air like him before passing out entirely.
Daggeuro groaned as he regained consciousness, rolling over and getting to his feet. Baron Dimanche lay next to him, also coming to as the kennin warrior took in their surroundings. He found himself standing on the stage of some kind of theater, the curtains raised overhead, sloping seats leading to two sets of entrance doors. A peek toward the back stage area showed rolling racks full of costumes and scenery pieces, along with several battered wooden trunks. The smell of the place was dusty, forgotten.
Dimanche wobbled on his feet a moment, then straightened, cast about. "Where are we?"
"Not sure," said Daggeuro, popping the tie-downs on his swords open. The doors at the front of the theater burst open, revealing a newcomer in each entryway. On the left, a light brown-furred kennin in crimson elite plate armor, two glimmering blades in hand, a negative exposure of Daggeuro. On the right, a tall, paper-white man with pure black eyes and green waistcoat worn over green trousers, torso bare under the coat, a negative of Baron Dimanche. He held a strange staff festooned with runes along its length in his right hand. "But I know trouble when I see it," said Daggeuro, drawing Boon and Bane.
The unDaggeuro began growling as he charged down the aisle, blades held out behind him. The unBaron quickly drew a piece of chalk from one of its pouches and began chanting as he scrawled on the floor. Dimanche followed suit, preparing a quick shielding circle.
Daggeuro took one step back and locked his legs into position as unDaggeuro leapt through the air at him, landing in a half-crouch, one blade swinging from the left, the other from the right. Daggeuro easily blocked this opening offensive, rolling back from a follow-through thrust kick. He knew that maneuver all too well.
Dimanche's chalk circle vibrated as a curse flung by the unBaron struck, a swirl of green light flaring up around him. He prepared his own curse with a pen on his hand, breaking the chalk circle with one foot and flinging his hand forward, barking "Choke String," as his did so. The unBaron began gagging, grappling at his throat as Dimanche reeled him in on a thin cord of magic.
Daggeuro dodged and weaved around a flurry of attacks, narrowly avoiding being struck several times. This dark doppelganger possessed his skills, yes, but his style was erratic and frenzied, a polar opposite to Daggeuro's own typical one-on-one method of combat. He found and exploited three quick openings, Boon and Bane cutting well into the unDaggeuro's armor, tasting blood. The doppelganger leaped back off of the stage, putting distance between himself and Daggeuro.
When Dimanche had the unBaron a few feet away, his bleach-white copycat threw a white powder up, cutting away the line of magic holding his throat. He followed up with a twirl, pointing one finger at Dimanche to fling shards of sharpened ice conjured by magic in the voodo man's direction. A couple drew blood, one along his left cheek and one on his right leg, but the others were pushed aside. A stomp of his foot on the stage sent cracks ripping through the wood, and unBaron fell through a gap created by these with a yelp.
Daggeuro hopped down off the stage, wary of his double. Rightly so, for as soon as he landed the double struck with a twin stab, one over and one under. Daggeuro parried these and spun forward and left, sweeping Boon across unDaggeuro's cheek. UnDaggeuro snarled as he was twisted aside, blood spraying from his damaged face. The two circled one another, until unDaggeuro had his back almost against the stage.
Baron Dimanche stood smiling wickedly down through the hole at his counterpart, who lay below with his left leg broken at a horrid angle, bone showing slick with blood through one ravaged pantleg. "Well, dis is it," Dimanch said, readying green flames in his right hand. UnBaron scrawled something in the dusty debris beside him and hissed as he slapped it. Dimanche fliched, then looked at his hand. The spell had been snuffed. "A counterspell? No matter. I have plenty of magic at my disposal," he cooed, preparing a fresh fireball.
The unDaggeuro, meanwhile, executed a flawless backflip up onto the stage. Daggeuro, realizing his error too late, began charging, seeing now how this would end. The unDaggeuro spun and rolled toward Dimanche, thrusting his blades up through his back as he completed the roll in a kneeling posture. The blades protruded from Dimanche's stomach and chest, blood spraying from his mouth.
Teeth grinding together, the voodo spirit managed to hurl two green fireballs down at his doppelganger, leaving it rolling and shrieking death cries. Dimanche tumbled to his side, and as the unDaggeuro stood and wheeled, its head came clear from its neck, cut away by the blade of Bane.
Daggeuro sheathed his legendary blades and swooped down beside Baron Dimanche, reaching for his pouch with the healing potions. Dimanche grabbed Daggeuro by the wrist, staring him in the eyes. "No," the voodoo spirit choked out, foamy blood dribbling over his lips. "It is, too late. Pierced, my, heart. Take, my, gear," Dimanche said, his hand weak, slipping away from the kennin warrior's wrist.
"You cannot die, Baron," Daggeuro snapped, cradling Dimanche's head in his left hand. "You are of the Loa! You are a god!"
"Even, gods, die, friend," Dimanche managed. "Even, gods." Dimanche's eyes widened as he coughed, convulsed, then went utterly limp in Daggeuro's hand. His eyes turned purest black, and his body began turning to sand before Daggeuro's eyes.
The kennin warrior lifted his snout and bayed at the ceiling, twin tear tracks coursing through his fur. Another great man, another friend, had fallen.
When Kathy came to, she found Byron already standing up, both of them stiff, groaning. She looked around and nearly screamed at the sight of their surroundings- they were standing in a slaughterhouse. She recognized the kill pen from internet videos she'd seen displaying animal cruelty in such places, and the stench of old blood, feces and sweat made her retch aloud.
Byron sniffled and gagged, checking himself quickly. He shook his head, looking around. "Oh, Christ," he muttered, arm up over his face. "This is messed up." A sliding access door behind them slid open noisily, and as they turned around, they stared at the pair who had opened the door.
"No, that's messed up," Kathy said. Across from her stood a woman who could have been her, if not for the crudely fashioned scrap armor, tribal tatoos and piercings all over her face. The unKathy's hair was wild and filthy-looking, and behind her stood what looked like a tool bench brought to life and fashioned into a crude golem.
Across from Byron was a well-dressed, thoroughly groomed version of himself, clean shaven, hair kept short and businesslike. He appeared utterly calm as he drew a rapier from his belt, holding it expertly. The unByron was missing something, though; where Byron was wearing a clip for his cards, his doppelganger had no such accessory.
His Awakened power can't be copied. Even the Chained One couldn't use it. You didn't think about that, Quoth, Kathy thought. Yet as unByron took his stance, a ring of brilliant red and yellow flames roared to life around him where he stood, the unKathy's table golem inching away from it.
Kathy had been on the defensive more times than she could count since entering Ether Plane, and she wasn't about to waste time. She sought out the pull of gravitational force, and when she found it, she flexed her will, yanking unKathy's golem to the hardpack dirt floor with shattering force. Byron, meanwhile, manifested an ice sword and went to work, hacking away at unByron, who, flummoxed, backed away swiftly, a look of terror on his face.
His chain armor saved Byron's life as a high horizontal slash sailed over unByron's head, the doppelganger countering with a quick slash of his own that barely scratched his armor. Byron drew out another card and whipped it at unByron, snapping his fingers to manifest its text. As the light flashed, a giant man-eating spider materialized, clinging to the screaming doppelganger, its enormous fangs tearing into his throat.
The unKathy snarled like a savage and lunged at Kathy, bringing a hand sickle dropped by her golem around in a wild swing. Kathy, wielding Senta's daggers, expertly blocked the attack with one blade, carving a path up along the doppelganger's vein with the other. She sidestepped away, snap-rolling back away from a follow-up downward swing from unKathy.
Her copy was quickly flagging, its blood splashing the floor in turgid rivulets. It managed one last feeble attack before Byron put the twin barrels of a hellfire shotgun against its head and pulled the trigger, reducing its head to charred skull and bloody paste. The unKathy dropped dead, her weapon clattering to the floor. The unByron was gurgling its last breath under the spider, which Byron dismissed into ashes with a wave of his hand.
The pair stood there, taking one another's hand, staring down at their fallen foes. "Weird, isn't it? Looking at ourselves, I mean," Byron remarked.
"Those things aren't us," Kathy replied. She took a deep breath, released it slowly. "We're still breathing. Come on," she said, leading the way toward the sliding door the doppelgangers had come through.
The white flash of light took them before they were halfway there.