Segment: Up From Dungeon's Dwell The sun set over the great mountains to the south, the faint red light slowing fading from the sky, as if the heavens bled. Down in the valley below, the little village yawned collectively, and the lights of the houses blinked out as the inhabitants bedded down. Up above, the mountain was a looming dark edge across the slowing fading sky, and the stars that blinked into existence. A sheer black nothingness, void that blocked out all within it's reach, reaching out a snapping up any light that happened by. It's shadow played down upon the village engulfing it in blackness. Selvane looked down from on high at the quiet village, pacified vicarious sly through it's peaceful ease with the world. In his mind's eye, he saw the families preparing for bed. Children snug in the covers, listening to Pa read stories by candlelight. Couples in each others embrace, watching the glow fade from the sky. The dog snug by the embers in the hearth or at the foot of his master's bed. The wives and mothers sneaking in for one last look at their dozing children before they finally retired. Children begging for one last hug before finally turning in, really this time, they promised. All was right and peaceful in that small village, all was quiet. And then the music came. It swelled up, in a deep roaring heave, roiling from the depths of the mountains. First, a slight swirl of string, and then deep brassy fanfare. It rolled across the floor of the valley, into every home, into every child's mind. Yet, they slept. *Can they not hear?* thought Selvane. A sense of foreboding engulfed him. Overbearing dread took over the Ranger, incapacitating him. He tried to call out. To warn the peaceful people below, but nothing came out. All he could do was watch and listen as the music built. He looked South. The highest spire of the mountain cracked open like an egg, and down from it spilt a thousand trails of vapor. Whispers of soul, Selvane knew. Spirits flitted among the foothills, growing ever closer to the enclave of peace. They floated meters above the land, apparitions bent on revenge. Some bore chains and lost expressions white, nearly transparent. Others came thundering down on nightmare steeds, wielding swords of flame, their mounts snorting smoke and brimstone. Others where ghouls of shapeless smoke and ash, teeth and bristling hair, flying down the mountain like rocks in an avalanche. Before the great flood of spectres was a winged demon. A scaled gargoyle, skin black as night, scaled and silent. His wings beat the air, their red veins and bones glowing with each pump. His eyes were dark as the mountains, like dark coals, waiting to be lit. From the great brow above the eyes sprouted horns, like some surreal goat's scalp, cleaved off and attached. The advance was lead by this unearthly being, his wings pumping, winging down from the mountain, foam dripping from his mouth, teeth glistening, an otherworldly hunger needed to be satisfied. The music rose in intensity, reaching a fever pitch. Selvane watched in growing horror as ever more deranged and mangled spirits spewed forth from the mountain, like so much puss from a wound. His voice caught in his throat as he watched. The vanguard demon approached the nearest house, and circled, rising above it, like a vulture, sizing up carrion. Then, at the top of it's rise, the wings folded back, and it dove, down in a black streak against the stars. The window burst open, and inside, Selvane saw a simple farmer and his wife, stricken with surprise and fear in their bed. Both stood plastered to the sheets, as if glued there by the demons gaze. It raised it's sinewed arms toward the sky, dark claws growing up from nearly human hands. The couple did nothing, locked in horror. The demon approached. The music reached a crescendo. A claw came down. Selvane awoke in cold sweat, breathing heavily. The music still wafted through his consciousness. Modest Musgorsky's "Night on Bald Mountain," he recognized now. The images of the farmer and his wife still were running through his mind, imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Every time he closed his eyes, Selvane could see their stricken look, their sheer terror. The demon's eyes, it's claws growing out of nothing. He shook his head and moved to a sitting position, his legs hanging off the side of his cot. Selvane looked around. Same cell, black on black. The lighting strip casting a slight glow around the dark surroundings. He shook his head. *Nightmares,* he thought, *I'm too old to be scared of visions,* but he was still shaken, just the same. The door slid open, and Selvane looked up. Four burly guards wearing all black uniforms pushed their way into the room, and seized his arms roughly. Their grips were like iron. The agents were of a different race than the other guards. Tall and wide shouldered. All muscle and sinew. Flat faces that revealed nothing. No nose to speak of. Wide mouths and small ears. Eyes that were shaped like tear-drops set on end. They all looked exactly the same in build, and face. *Clones?* Selvane mused. He knew better than to say anything as they very roughly made the trip to the elevator. The trip was short, and once again, Selvane was shoved down the long hallway to the booking offices. The blue uniformed pudgy was gone from the desk, and Selvane noticed a figure lurking in the corridor he knew to lead to the outside world. *Lunch break?* Selvane wondered. One of his four escorts stepped behind the desk a punched a few buttons. There was a slight whirr, and he handed Selvane a card. "Your identity," the guard said in a flat monotone as he handed it to Selvane. Selvane accepted it with a newly free hand, and examined it closely. Name, age, picture, standard identity. A small black strip lined bottom. "Hold still," one of the guards told Selvane in a voice exactly like the other's. In his hand was a large syringe. There was a poke, and the injection entered his blood stream. *I hope that was a vaccination,* fretted the Ranger. The man guard behind the desk handed Selvane his pack then nodded to his partners. "Your possessions," then, all the hands released him, and a third familiar monotone addressed the figure in the shadows. "He is now in your custody," and the smiling figure of Nexxus Kline emerged from the corridor.