Xillian knelt near the corpse of the dead man and laid a hand on his chest. He had know the mayor, he was an odd person, and coming from the mage that was saying something. His closest allies saw Xillian as an eccentric at best, and a madman at worst. Even so he had never seen this coming, that the mayor was in fact of the monsters which plagued Avabruck nightly.
 
"How does this change things?" Arix asked, padding closer, "Xill, listen to me, what is going on." The worry in the dragons voice betrayed his concern for his friend, as he brought a large eye level with the Mage.
 
Xillian was motionless, eyes distant, lost in thought. A long pause passed, before the light in his eyes began to return, "The Mayor was one of them. The pack leader. He likely knew the true identities of those in his pack, and possibly started this pack." Rising, Xillian paced absent mindedly towards the crushed fountain, "If he knew, then he was covering the whole thing up, which means he wouldn't have hired me to investigate normally, and so wanted to lure in a real challenge." Xillian looked up, "Or, he never intended to keep this a secret any further. " Rushing over to the dragon, he patted his eyebrow and was off at a brisk pace.
 
"Devilry is on the winds, good Arix," he exclaimed, "And we shall root it out. We need to get to the town hall now," he explained hurridly, "Loath as you will be to do so, I may have to make you smaller so you can get inside unnoticed."
 
"A warrior," huffed Arix, "Never hides."
 
"That's fine and dandy my friend, but right now," he shot back calmly, "There is more at stake, and I'll need your eyes."
 
Arix simply glared.
 
"Hokay. I guess this means I'm goin' in solo..." he said, swiftly changing the subject, "You come and save my ass if I'm in trouble, alright?"
 
The Dragon nodded, "I'll be right outside."
 
The two made quick time through the abandoned streets, deserted as they were by the night denizens that plagued the city. For the nightcralwers that regularly accosted the people in the houses that paved the narrow streets, the dragon was an imposing figure, and moreso the seemingly diminuative man had proven to be a superior hunter to the largest of the terrors in the night.
 
The town hall of the Mayor proved easily found, large and forboding as it was. The large, broken window in the study told of the events that happened not even an hour earlier. Xillian took in the whole scene, complete with glass strews across the enclosed lawn. A low cobblestone fence ran a ring around the lot, thick green grass well cared-for by daytime gardeners. It was simple and easy enough to get close to the manor, no guards and a distinct lack of any impeding presences, be them loose cobblestones or snarring weeds making the walk up the paved walkway seem like he was being invited in to some event.
 
Giving one last look over his shoulder, Xillian gulped a little louder than he wanted to, and with a nod to Arix turned back and gingerly grabbed the handle, putting the slihtest of pressure on it. With some reluctance, the handle gave way with a shift, causing it to slam down into the base of its frame, creating a jarring "Thunk" as the latch was lifted. Pushing the door open, the object groaning in reluctance, Xillian stepped inside, letting the heavy oak door slowly come shut behind him.
 
A long, red velvet runner spun up the staircase directly ahead, the dark coordors lit only by scarce and dieing candles on iron stands. Rather than venture left or right, Xillian took the shortest rout and went right up the stairs, taking them with faux-confidence in an effort to fool himself. He was extremely unnerved by the massive mirror on the landing however, shocked he had failed to notice the damnedable thing before he got up the stairs. It held a number of splotchy blemeshes, with a greenish patina on the copper frame. He took to the right, eager to get away from the warped thing, making the last few paces in short effort due to his haste.
 
The hallway ahead was deceptively long, moreso than he expected, and was lined with mirrors, much to his dismay. Reluctance boiled in the pit of his stomach which seemed ready to implode like a Super-nova into an all consuming black hole. Stepping forwards once, then again, he shuffled ever-onwards, ignoring the cool temperature that he assumed the draft was making, his breath readily showing in the cold house. Two doors past, he found the large and ornate office of the mayors standing just shy of the end of the hallway and checked the handle.
 
It rattled reluctantly, and with a groan, Xillian stepped back and sighed. Grasping the handle, he took a deep breath and held it, looking at the handle with focused attention. He stood there for a whole minuet, before breaking his breath and removing his hand, the cold metal reluctant to part with his hand. Having froze the lock, he just needed to give it a good jolt to melt the entire thing and warp it so he could enter easily. With a snap, the lock exploded, electricity super-heating it in a blink as it shattered. Pushing the now unlocked door open, he proceeds inside.
 
Papers and maps fluttered about in the night gust, the bright moon just outside, a barely alive fire in the fireplace, smoking more than burning now. Making his way to the deck, but three feet from the smashed window, he couldn't help but notice some claw prints along the rug, the Alpha had surely been in the throws of fighting off the transformation. Behind the desk, the smashed chair was testimony to this, as it had been totally obliterated and beyond repair by any efficient means.
 
Ignoring the signs of struggle and fighting, Xillian focused on the task, looking at the wall and its many decorations, assorted plaques and trophies, looking for a moment at something that had caught his eye yet he was unable to find whatever glimmer had captured his interest. Returning to his work, he began at the top left and worked his way down, slowly scouring drawer after drawer, looking for something, a diary perhapse or some confessions, maybe even some strange shipping information.
 
His intention was to find something that might disclose the Mayors greater plans. It was unlikely he wanted more attention on the town, especially with such adept hunters on the plane. Xillian had a hunch something was amiss, and he needed a lead on who else he could contact. As it happens, tonight was a lucky night, and he found something. His eyes widened as he read it, and with a quick grin, he stuffed the ratty old leather letter into his breast pocket, and grabbed a few reciets that were important to it, and turned to the window.
 
"Arix!" he yelled, but the dragon just outside, not even fourteen feet, couldn't hear him. It wasn't a howling, blustery night, nor was his friends ears stuffed with cotton, with a malcontent "Harumph", he turned and sprinted for the door, pulling it open a few extra inches and walking with a slight smile, glad to be leaving the house.
 
A tingle ran down his neck, and Xillian being the man he was whirled around in a flash. His pupils constructed, turning to pinpricks, as he saw a chained up, ghastly figure float from a closed door just behind the office he left. His breathing quickened, and he took a step back. The last thing he wanted was a phantom traping him in the house. If he could just-
 
"Creak," groaned a floor pannel, and Xillian's vision darted down to his rear foot, looking up in time to catch the ghost in the eyes. No words were shared, but both understood what would happen next.
 
Xillian sank low, spinning on his forwardsmost foot, stomping out with the leg that betrayed him to attempt to gain ground. The Phantom screamed, shattering the mirrors closest to it, the vibrations radiating outwards in a blueish wave, a blinding silvery light growing from inside the apperition. Xillian sprinted for all he was worth, the shockwave close behind. He was right at the stairs when his foot caught on something and he went flying, diving down the stairs in a flustered sprawl.
 
The landing gave, the rot-eatten wood seemingly unable to support him. With a yelp, he fell, landing on his back in time to see a dervish of glass and concussive energy spray where he would have been had he had a chance to rise. Jumping to his feet, he took stock of where he was, down in a basement he assumed.
 
To Xillians infinite astonishment, the landing mended its self before he could escape, and he was stuck with finding his own way out. Rising, the lone man looked around for a door. To his left, behind a few barrels lay a staircase upwards. Sighing in releaf that this would be simple, he made for it, stomping at the slight squeek he heard just shy of infront of him. Backing away slowly, he looked about the dark floor, small shapes dashing forwards and back.
 
On Innistrad, humans had many problems, but among them rats were some of the highest, topping Vampires by far. The small creatures congregated in huge gangs, and carried deadly diseases, and were a favorite instrument of Demons, sometimes dragging away struggling men into the darkness to be lost forever. Not wanting a similar fate, Xillian knew he'd have to rely on his own lightning fast relfexes and some luck to get out of here without a fatal scratch.
 
With a deep breath, Xillian took that single step forwards. There was a squeek, and Xillian saw movement coming towards him, and shuffled sideways with precise skill. The storm began and the rats swarmed Xillian, he ran as fast and agily as he could manage, small projectiles which could end your life in the most unpleasent way possible wizzing about, past, over and under. Diving up the staircase, he forded them two at a time, taking the summit in three heartbeats, bashing the door open with his shoulder and shiputting it behind him with a crash.
 
Taking stock, Xillian had just enough time to duck as a knife wedged its self into the door frame. Looking around, he noticed he was in the kitchen, and now the knives were brandishing themselves, eager to kill him. With a gulp, he had to admit. Flying knives were easier to handle than speeding rats. He could gamble and win with catching a knife, after all.
 
The knife in the door wiggled, and came loose, Xillian grabbing it from the air, forcefully ripping whatever was holding it with a burst of electricity. He raised his flensing blade and parried a stab from a heavy-handled knife, ducking to the side as a cleaver slashed for him. He was not about to chance a counter given his insubstansial foes, and preferredd to let a banishin spell fly from his fingers with a quick thought, the spell sending the knife into the AEther where it would do no more harm.
 
Ducking under the same heavy knife as before, Xillian raised his own and blocked three times to successively stronger slashes, parried a jab and finally managed to grab the handle, slamming both his and the captive one into the tile floor, banishing them as well with a flash of blue mana. Panting, he pushed open to door from the kitchen to the dining room, the exit just within reach.
 
He stumbled for the exit before he felt a tingle on his neck. Diving for the ground, the table slammed into the opposite wall, narrowly missing the hunter. With a yelp, Xillian was on his feet and leaped off of a chair that came after him, landing on the next woth his hands, flipping off just as the table smashed the chair to smitherines. Rolling under the table again, he exited the dining room and slammed the door behind him, and booked it for the exit. Freedom was almost his, before a sudden flash claimed his vision, his sight replaced.
 
A long hallway lay before him. At the end he was running for, lay a large, silver-bound door with a ring handle. Sound distorted for a moment, a hushed thump all he could make out of his own thunderous heartbeat. His sight was restored moments later as he crashed into the real door, and yanked hard on the handle, it unwilling to come loose. He turned around, and watched as the mirror began to collect frost and a misty aura.
 
His vision shifted again, and this time the hallways was taller, darker, and he felt himself being pulled backwards. He tugged against the power which saught to drag him away, making some ground. His vision flashed, and he found himself litterally being dragged away from the door towards the mirror. Grabbing the handle and holding on hard, he slammed shut his eyes, panic overtaking his mind. He opened them and looked back, to be graced by the sight of a blood-drenched, toothy portal which writhed and shook under the chruning of thousands of bodies. The gust grew stronger, and Xillian felt it harder and harder to fight the draw, and fell to his knees scrabbling forwards.
 
His sight returneded again as his heels hit the first step of the staircase, the force causing him to flip into the air, spinning in a flip as he flew into the mirror, hundreds of hands reaching out, eager to accept him.
 
And then, he saw darkness.
____________________
 
The taste of Oblivion did not last long. Flashes of light flew across his vision as he blinked, trying to see where he was. He could only see slowly shifting shapes, no true forms in any definition of the word, chattering in alien tongues grating to the ear surrounding him. He tested his hands, but they were bound, outstretched and spread eagle upon a table of some sort. He tried to look around, but his head was anchored in place by a large brace. His every move was stiffled, his own eyes being forced open by diabolical machines, explaining his poor sight. He felt something hot against his neck and screamed, the memory of where he was somehow pushing through the fear he felt.
 
He blacked out again, lights moved and danced, and he almost forgot what he was doing. Once more, he returned to life, or something. He couldn't see much, but could hear a mechanical shuffle everytime he moved an arm or a leg, a slight whine when he blinked, and was compeled forwards. His limbs moved not of his own violation, as if he was a puppet to some tune he couldn't understand.
 
There was a sharp crack, and he found himself kneeling now, in a pool of blood, his hands covered in the stuff. All around him lay the dead remains of people he knew, people he loved and cherrished. He screamed, he screamed as loud as he could. He knew exactly where he was, but fear clouded his mind, forced him to try and blot it out. He heard laughing but he couldn't tell if it was his sadistic tourturer or his own as his sanity cracked, realizing what he had done.
 
What have I done? said a strange voice, so far away. It seemed familiar, somehow, How could this happen to me? Why would I do this?
 
"Because you are ours, toy," croacked a metalic, emotionless voice, "And you will always be ours."
 
No. No, this could not be happening, not now, not then, not ever again! No!
 
"No!" screamed a voice, one Xillian recognized as his own, the same as before. His vision swam, and he heard a cracking noice. He was white-hot, a burning feeling as if some irons left in the forge had been clamped on too soon, and in that scream, there was a sound like glass cracking. Spiderwebs danced on his vision, as it began to clear, and with a singular voice, a thousand souls screamed with him.
 
Never again.
 
With a thud and a crash, Xillian fell from the Mirror, the glass flying everywhere. His head was dizzy, and he could hardly see strait, partially because of his enormous headache and also because he was face-first in the floor. With a groan, he lifted himself up to the sight of light splashing across his face, a brillian sight after what he had just endured. Was it real?
 
With a shudder, he acknowledged, Yes, that was. Every detail. Xillian wondered what had happened to Arix, and rising on shaky feet, he gently stepped down the stairs towards the door, the well oiled hinge opening with ease. Arix looked up, groggily, and immediately lost his look of aggitation of napping on the cold, hard lawn in favor of worry at Xillians appearence.
 
"You do not look well, friend." Arix said, rising slowly. Xillian didn't even bother to explain, he was tooe exhausted and the memory was still fresh of what had happened in that evil house. "Xillian, wait!" cried Arix, blocking his friends path, "What happened?"
 
"A phantom." Xillian responded, his voice wavering. Despite his confidence and pride, his veneer of aptitude was peeling away, for a moment showing the ugly truth, "I saw it again. The day we.." he stopped, unable to say any more, "The day they..."
 
"It's all right..." Arix sat next to Xillian, who leaned on the dragon, catching his breath, "It's in the past. You did what had to be done."
 
With red eyes betraying how badly the usually stalwart man wanted to cry, Xillians cold, simple answer drove a stake through Arix, more cutting than even his most adept enemies blade.
 
"I could have done more. I needed to do more, and they died because I failed."