Tales from the Wasteland | The No Leaf Clover

Chapter 16

The one-sided argument lasts the majority of the trip up the never-ending stairwell. Rod remains silent and steadfast as the entity continues its pleas for him to turn around. At first, it is calm and sincere, giving Rod friendly advice on why he shouldn't go.

This is too dangerous, even for you. We will have our opportunity to strike, but not now. Too much is at stake.

The statements are vague and evasive. Rod wonders what was so dangerous as to detour himself or the darkness that attaches itself to him. The voice has spoken many times over the years about a journey they are on. A quest that would change Rod's fate. A change for the better. A way to end his suffering. An emotional pain that eludes him. He feels such agonizing guilt, but he did not know why. Every time he tries to remember the past, a physical pain wraps around his mind. His head would throb until all thought vanished from his mind. His dreams are even more clouded.

When the Dark One exhausts all attempts with a calm demeanor, it shifts to a paradigm of fear. What will come of Alena if you die here? Yet another victim in this cold, unforgiving world. What would her grandfather say?

For the tiniest of seconds, the dark voice pinched a nerve with the hunter. The question almost faltered his pace. Not this time, Rod thinks within himself. This tactic will not work this time. Rod rushes onward, ignoring the Dark One.

The exhaustive climb up the eternal stairwell gives Rod plenty of time to think. In doing so, he pushes out the dark voice from his mind. Nothing more than wind whistling through the cracked walls around him. He stops at a platform to catch his breath. He notices a rupture on the outer wall generating a small blade of light. He walks over and peers through the crack. Daylight is not far off. If he's to catch this Sandman off guard, Rod must hurry. He breathes in the cool air several times, letting it fill his lungs before exhaling.

He turns and stops at the set of steps leading up, listening for the dark voice. It's gone. Only his own thoughts fill his mind. He smiles as he continues up the steps. Only a small victory, but one he'll gladly take.

Time creeps along as he continues the winding trek up. The new sound of silence is comforting, allowing time to mentally prepare himself for the task at hand. The top is a complete mystery to him. Being low on ammo and grenades could prove to be quite hazardous. There's no telling how many imps or thr'alls will be waiting.

Reaching the final platform, Rod can see the door to the final floor of the skyscraper. Oddly, the door is carved from dark wood. It isn't old or withered. The door stands out like a sore thumb. Patterns and runes are intricately carved around the edge. In the middle is the face of a gargoyle. The knob to the door is resting in its mouth. He touches the handle, "Smooth. Someone took great care in crafting this door."

As he turns the knob, a heaviness weighs on his shoulders. The door glides open with a gust of wind so thick he could cut it with his sword. Whispers travel as the draft moves past. He peeks through the doorway into a dimly lit room. The room is dark and humid. Beads of sweat start to pool from his pores as he steps into the room. Shadowy tar covers the floor and walls.

A mixture of yellow and green vomit oozes down the walls into puddles on the ground. Rod's boots sink in slightly with each step. Torches fastened to several tar-covered pillars ahead of him light his way forward. The pillars are evenly separated, possibly part of the structural beams of the building.

Continuing on, he finds pods on the floor. A demonic garden of sorts. He walks over to one. Its outer shell is warm to the touch and smothered with the vomit looking fluid that covers the walls. The pod convulses at his touch. Something is moving within. Rod pulls his sword out and makes a careful incision, starting from the top and moving downward. More of the yellowish liquid bubbles up from the cut, then oozes down the pod. The fetor of decay and sulfur cloud the area. Rod holds his breath and spreads the skin-like outer casing away. To his horror, a small fetus of an imp is curled in a ball.