Elayra watched Ghent warily, unsure how he would react. On the bright side, he had not already just walked out the door, but his moments of seemingly stunned silence were not exactly reassuring.
When he finally spoke, readying to give their story in a nutshell, she crossed her arms loosely.
Drust turned slowly to face them, his expression impassive, and black-streaked crimson gaze settling on Ghent.
Elayra glared at being referred to as ‘Blondie.’
“Sorceress, technically,” she responded once he finished his version of a recap, annoyance in her voice at the nickname, “and I guess we’re a bit of both, but neither of those. But yeah, you've pretty much got it.”
At his question, Elayra regarded him for a short moment, debating on how much more it would be wise to tell him tonight. She had little experience with interacting with others not effected by the Curse, and the last thing she wanted to add to the worry list was dealing with Ghent if they said too much or, even, too little.
“You said it yourself:” she uncrossed her arms, one hand again resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, “we need your help. The Curse essentially barred everyone—well,” she scowled, “most everyone—from using magic. Drust,” she nodded to her guardian, “spent years trying to research it. The two of us can cast minor spells every now and again, but that won’t do us any good against someone like the Red Sorceress. In theory," she rolled her eyes at the word she so detested, "the Curse won’t even recognize you now, so you’d have that access.”
“Your father and his kind are powerful sorcerers in their own right,” Drust added. “Which is an ability passed from one generation to the next.”
“So, what do you say? Feel like being a hero?” She offered him a hand to shake in acceptance, trying to keep her doubts about him from her expression with minimal success.

Considering all that he'd learned, Ghent remained fairly calm until magic was mentioned. "No way." Mouth agape, he looked towards Drust for his confirmation. Elayra didn't strike him as the type to lie, but he was more willing to believe the overly-serious knight. "You're not pulling my leg, right? I have magic?"
Ghent had believed their story up until now. While he hadn't batted an eye at the mention of the Red Sorceress, he couldn't envision himself with this type of power. For Ghent, life had been average at best. Aside from being found in the woods as a toddler, nothing out of the ordinary happened, and each day seemed to mimic the one before it. If his father's magic had been passed down, life was about to get a lot more interesting.

As Elayra offered him her hand, Ghent took notice of her expression. Reading people was something Ghent specialized in, and he had a feeling he hadn't made the best impression thus far. In all fairness, Ghent couldn't blame their lack of faith in him; the feeling of doubt was only too prevalent in his life, and he often doubted himself. Tripping over the same slide twice hadn't done his image any favors, either. This was a chance to prove them wrong, and this was a chance to find his parents.
"Yeah, okay. Since you asked so nicely," with a light smirk, Ghent shook Elayra's hand once to confirm his alliance, and then a thought struck him.
"What are you guys to me, anyway? Are we related?" Even though Ghent's adoptive family had plenty of relatives, he wondered if his real parents had any brothers or sisters. If Ghent shared blood with his new comrades, he wanted to know. "Can I call you Uncle Drust or what?"

“No one has magic,” Drust answered Ghent’s first question with an impatient sigh. “It’s something you seek. Either you find it, or you don’t. It can be a finicky thing, but there are some with the capability of breaking past its barriers and accessing it to its fullest extent.”
Elayra mimicked Ghent’s smirk when he shook her hand. “I can ask nicer, if you’d rather,” she offered flippantly, a mild, almost playful threat in her voice.
She turned from him and went to a stray box. She scooted it over, stacked another on top of it, tested her weight on it, then sat. She leaned against the metal bars of the shelving behind her as Ghent asked about their relation to him.
“Uncle Drust,” Elayra repeated slowly toward the ceiling, trying out the title. “You make one interesting uncle.”
Drust glared at her, his neck twitching.
“I mean that as a compliment.” Elayra returned his stare.
He snorted, then looked to Ghent. “I am far from being your uncle, boy. Merely Drust will suffice.”
“Drust’s one of the best White Knights from Heart Castle,” Elayra explained, her expression growing solemn. “My guardian and trainer. And yours now as well, it would seem. As for you and me, we lived in the castle. Our… our parents were good friends, and thus so were we.”

"We lived in a castle?" Ghent seemed to repeat everything in a question of his own. First Wonderland, then magic, now a castle. A castle sure beat an apartment. If they'd lived in a castle, then that meant...no. That wasn't possible. Was it?
"Hold up. Am I royalty?" The news was going to Ghent's head, but he stopped. If he was of royal blood, he would have been addressed in a more respectful manner. Drust referred to him as 'boy' twice so far. This was not how one addressed a prince. The realization may have been disappointing, but Ghent was far from discouraged. Magic was nothing to sneeze at.

"Alright, maybe not." Ghent declined the notion on his own, but he hadn't abandoned the idea entirely. Elayra had lived there too, so she may have been a princess. "I'm going to take a shot in the dark here and assume you're from a royal family," Ghent started to speculate out loud, but his phone put the theory to a halt. The ringtone was embarrassingly loud and festive; no one had bothered to change it from last Christmas. Great.
"Don't make a sound!" Ghent signaled them to be quiet as he fumbled to answer. All of this must have looked bizarre to his current guests, but he didn't have time to explain.

"Hello?" Please don't be Henry again.
"Ghent? Where are you?" Mrs. Preston sounded anxious. "Are you still with your friends?"
Ghent kept Drust and Elayra in his line of vision. "You could say that." They'd been friends at one time, after all. This was not a lie, merely a method of survival. "I know you were relying on me to pick up the milk--"
"It's alright, sweetie." The news of Ghent being with friends was a weight off of Mrs. Preston's mind. "Your father picked up a gallon on his way home. When will you be back? Henry is busy alphabetizing our movies, isn't he darling? Have you eaten yet?"
"Oh yeah, just darling. I'll be a while." Ghent was conflicted, and his loyalties were split. Wonderland needed him, but so did his adoptive family. "Not yet, but I will. I have to go, okay? Don't worry about me, I'll text you later."

Goodbyes were exchanged, and Ghent felt less enthusiastic than before. The phone call was a reminder of the people he had on Earth, and the damage he would cause by leaving this world behind.
"Er. That was my mom." Ghent held out the phone so they could take a look at the device if they so wished to. "We talk through this. It's kinda like magic, I suppose. Cool, right?" Explaining technology was not his forte. "Guess I should've asked this earlier...but how does the portal work? Can I come back after we save Wonderland?"

Elayra frowned in annoyance at Ghent’s affinity for returning their answers as questions. “Is that not what I just said?” Her foot tapped lightly against the bottom box of her makeshift seat.
She shook her head slightly at his second question, recognizing the validity of the inquiry. “Hatter Madrail isn’t royalty. He was the White Queen's right-hand man.”
“Though the White Queen trusted him enough to name him her successor should he survive the Heart family.” Drust added, his gaze shifting around the room once more in an ever-vigilant watch for any creeping dangers.
“Not that that matters with the Red Queen,” Elayra stated the title mockingly, “on the throne.”
When Ghent guessed that Elayra was of royal blood, her jaw clenched, and her back stiffened. The only answer she had time to offer was a nod as stiff as the rest of her posture before an unfamiliar musical number blared through the room.
At first, one may have thought Elayra had fallen from her box-seat, but she landed nimbly on her feet, her weapons drawn, and Drust readily pulling out his katana.
The two watched Ghent as he pulled a rectangular device from a pocket, its front lighting up as the boy looked at it. Elayra cocked her head and lowered her sword and dagger, while Drust’s intense gaze settled slightly.
They remained quiet as Ghent had ordered while he spoke on the phone, another voice emanating from it in a jumbled murmur.
Elayra’s brows rose slightly when he called something “darling,” then her face fell as she saw his sense of determination waver into confliction. Wondering what held such power over him, she watched him remove the contraption from his ear.
“Your…” Elayra shared a quick glance with Drust. Neither had considered that he may have found a family in this world. “You’ve found someone to call family here.”
She looked to the phone when he held it out. She sheathed her weapons, then reached out to take it, Drust watching from where he stood as he returned his own weapon to its sheath with a practiced motion.
“A communication device.” She flipped it over in her hand, but it remained dormant. “Much like our mirrors, I assume. In the rare event you can find one intact, anyway,” she added as she returned the phone.
Incapable of answering Ghent’s last question, Elayra looked to Drust.
He sighed, and his head twitched. “The portals are controlled by a mix of the magic in both Wonderland and the worlds they lead to, as well as a power all their own. When the Curse hit, lashing out at our world’s magic, the portals in and to Wonderland grew unstable. They all closed to conserve their power as well as prevent the Curse from spreading to other worlds. Wonderland and Earth have one of the strongest connections, so it was only a matter of time until the magical pathways between our worlds opened again. But it will remain so only for a few short days. It’s in our best interest to leave before tomorrow night, to be safe. Sooner, if possible.
“Whether or not you’d be capable of returning, I can’t say for certain. There is a chance they will all reopen once the Curse has worked its way out of Wonderland’s magic reserves, but it’s far from a guarantee.”
“In short,” Elayra began, a bitter edge in her voice at the prospect of that answer turning Ghent away, “maybe, maybe not. But you have until tomorrow to prepare.”

"Well, yeah. Did you think I was raised by wolves?" Ghent was starting to wish Axel's theory was his reality. Leaving a pack of wolves would have been a lot less painful. "I have parents here...I owe them a lot."
The circumstances behind Ghent's adoption had never been kept a secret. The Preston's weren't obligated to take him in, but they did, and they had always been good to him. When it came to family, Ghent lucked out, and the possibility of never seeing them again made his heart ache. Once again, Wonderland was making life difficult for all involved.

Elayra's interest in the phone was amusing to Ghent. The device he took for granted was completely alien to her. In Ghent's opinion, Wonderland sounded primitive; Elayra was missing out on all Earth had to offer.
"Girls your age are obsessed with these. They look at the screen and can hardly put it away...it may be a curse of some kind." Keeping a straight face was proving difficult; Ghent's comrades were easy targets. After Elayra was through with her inspection, Ghent pocketed the phone and settled for playing it cool after he sensed her bitterness. "Don't worry, Princess. I'm not turning you away. I'll figure this out. Always do."
Was he being too bold? Probably. Ghent was yet to master the art of shutting up.
"Enough of that, though...I've got 24hrs, and so do you. When's the last time you two ate?" Ghent could be a pain, but he wasn't heartless. Judging by appearance, they'd been on foot for the majority of the day.

The corner of Drust’s mouth and nose rose in a quiet growl, his neck twitching. “We didn’t know what to expect, boy.” He glared at Ghent.
“Dust.” Elayra turned to face him, her expression fierce as she silently begged him to hang in there for just a short while more. “Save it for training tonight.”
His gaze locked with hers for a tense moment. He snorted, then crossed his arms tightly, his muscles bulging with the effort where the fabric pulled tighter against his arms.
When Ghent teased about a curse, Elayra snarled and took a step away, her eyes flicking between Ghent and the phone. She heard Drust shuffle a step forward behind her with a snarl of his own.
Noticing the poorly suppressed enjoyment on Ghent’s face, her chin lowered and she glared at him in warning. “Curses are nothing to joke about,” she hissed through her teeth.
“Don’t worry, Princess.”
“Do not call me that!” she interrupted venomously.
“I’m not turning you away. I’ll figure this out. Always do.”
“Cocky child, aren’t you?” Drust growled.
Elayra inhaled at the all too familiar menacing tone in his voice, and spun around, her displeasure with Ghent placed on the back burner.
“Far too long ago,” she muttered to Ghent’s question, slowly raising a hand beside her, trying to usher him a bit further back and stand squarely between him and Drust.
A war raged in the White Knight’s eyes between the Curse and the soul it infested. The dark lines at their edges pulsated and wormed outward, the black-webbed-red threatening to consume his pupils for the third time that day.
“C’mon, Drust,” she began, her voice somewhere between demanding and soothing. “Hang in there. We need him to want to come with us, remember? How about we get out of here, find something to eat, and—”
Her words cut off as the Curse won.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
“Ghent, run!” Elayra hissed as, in a fluid motion, both she and Drust drew their weapons. The clang of metal on metal filled the room before Elayra’s voice finished reaching Ghent, her body bending back to avoid Drust’s longer blade in its close proximity. The strength of the blow radiated down her arm, but she only tightened her grip.

"I was only teasing." Ghent didn't sound sorry because he wasn't sorry.
"You're pretty touchy about the whole royalty thing. Is it supposed to be a secret?" If it was, Ghent didn't understand why. No one was around to hear, yet the tension in the room was at an all time high. What was with these two?

"Cocky child, aren’t you?"
"Hope you ain't referring to me, Gramps." Ghent was indeed cocky. His sarcastic, presumptuous behavior had triggered the darkness consuming the White Knight's very being. The markings were moving at an alarming rate, and Drust's eyes were nearly overcome by the black and red webs of color. There was something very, very wrong with this man.

"That...doesn't look good." Ghent blinked in surprise, his confusion multiplying when Elayra spoke to Drust as if he were a rabid animal on the verge of snapping. Unfortunately, her efforts to calm the knight proved unsuccessful.
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Elayra didn't have to give a second warning: fearing for his life, Ghent turned and ran. Until now, he hadn't realized the extent of what the curse had done to Drust. The proposition was becoming less and less appealing; how could he hope to survive Wonderland if he couldn't survive a single meeting?

Ghent jerked the door open, but the clashing of metal was enough for him to whirl around.
"Wait!" Staying was foolish. Ghent was unarmed and outclassed, but he didn't want Elayra to pay for his mistakes. "You're supposed to be her guardian, not her attacker!" The fact that Elayra was able to hold a sword against the muscular knight was incredible; how could someone so small possess so much strength?
"Yeah, you're brave with a sword in your hand, Drust...bet you don't have the guts to face me without one." Ghent was scared, but he wasn't cowardly enough to leave Elayra there by herself. If at all possible, Ghent wanted to get their current enemy to drop his sword. "Are you going to face me or not?"

When Ghent pulled the door open, a shadow pooling innocently beneath one of the shelves near the floor close to the exit stretched out in a wispy strand, as if ready to follow. It shot back into place when the boy turned back around, its unusual actions going unnoticed by the duelers.
The moment their swords collided, Drust slid his from Elayra’s and swung it with speed and accuracy rivaling even the greatest ninja, the hilt now grasped in both hands.
Elayra leapt away, trying to keep Drust’s attention from shifting to Ghent, the tip of his sword slicing at the fabric of her dress at her stomach. The end of his swing collided with one of the shelves, shattering packages of tube light bulbs and sending splinters of cardboard and glass clinking to the floor.
“Wait!
Drust’s head twitched toward Ghent.
“Get. Out!” Elayra hissed, sparing Ghent scarcely a glance as he rebuked Drust for the role he now played.
Drust, katana already drawn back for his next swing, hesitated, his head twitching consecutively and bearing a toothy snarl, the constant battle between man and magic warring anew.
For a precious moment, Elayra thought Ghent may have helped snap Drust out of it, or at least come close to it. But then, Ghent opened his mouth again, taunting him.
“You idiot!” she groaned as Drust’s attention turned to Ghent, something between a malicious grin and lopsided smirk twisting his face.
“And I was worried you were just a spineless oaf,” he jeered with a gravely undertone. “If it’s a fight you want, little oaf,” Elayra’s grip tightened on her weapons when Drust raised his Katana, sliding a foot to the side in preparation to stop Drust from using it on Ghent, but instead, he sheathed it, “who am I to decline?”
Fearful of how far he would go in a battle with Ghent, Elayra hastily tried to take advantage of Ghent’s distraction.
She jumped toward Drust, her sword aiming at his calf.
Drust growled and shifted out of the way, turning in a kick, but her blade hit its mark, creating a gash in his trousers before his foot collided with her stomach.
She bent double and stumbled back with its force. Her foot collided with the edge of her box-seat, and she fell to the floor, landing painfully on her side. Her sword clattered to the ground and skid into one of the shelves as she frantically tried to gasp in a breath.
Apparently satisfied she would be down at least long enough to deal with the other teenager in the room, Drust turned back to Ghent. “Let’s find out if you deserve to be called Hatter’s son, shall we?” he purred nastily, his neck cracking in yet another violent twitch.

"I'm trying to help!" Elayra's reaction was opposite to what Ghent had envisioned. Didn't she realize he was staying for her? Playing hero wasn't really working out; Elayra didn't want a hero, she wanted him gone. Glass and fragments of wood littered the ground of their makeshift battlefield, and Ghent moved forward to meet his foe after he witnessed Drust kick Elayra in the middle.
"Alright, that does it!"
Elayra hit the ground hard; there was no telling if she could recover from that in time. Now in a defensive pose, Ghent moved himself so that he would be between her and Drust.
"Listen to me: you need to get out of here, this guy is nuts." Ghent spoke to Elayra as if Drust were not present. Angering him further was dangerous, but it could also help break the man's concentration. Ghent's logic was heavily influenced by movies and video games.

“Let’s find out if you deserve to be called Hatter’s son, shall we?”
"I'd hate to disappoint you." Ghent balled his hand into a fist and tried to crack his knuckles. This was an attempt to appear menacing, but the motion hurt, and he shook his hand to rid himself of the cramp.
"Darn it..."
Ghent didn't excel at first impressions, but he was determined to hold his own long enough for Elayra to get to safety. That was the plan, anyway. Drust's menacing behavior would have been enough to scare off the bravest of souls, but Ghent couldn't leave. Elayra had taken a hit for him, now Ghent would take a hit for her. Or several.

This wasn't a childish fight at school. This was going to get ugly fast. Drust seemed fully capable in battle, sword or not. Surviving would require a mixture of agility and quick thinking.
"Before we start," Ghent slid a hand to his pocket and withdrew the phone. "I want to capture the moment." With the camera flash on, he snapped a photo in hopes of momentarily blinding Drust. Coming from Earth had a few perks, at least.
Moving fast, Ghent dropped the phone, ran in, and aimed an uppercut to his opponent's jaw.

“You’re, only, feeding it!” Elayra managed between her teeth, unsure whether the strained words were loud enough for Ghent to hear. She rolled onto her front as Ghent continued to egg Drust on, one arm draped over her midsection and the other propping herself up, shaky from the backlog of events of the day as she vaguely wondered what else could go wrong.
Drust only sneered at Ghent’s failed attempt at cracking his knuckles. When the boy pulled his phone out, Drust slid one foot behind the other and stood in a slightly crouched position, fists raised for the defensive as he waited for Ghent to make the first move.
He snarled, stepped back, and averted his gaze when a bright flash burst from the small device. At the sound of the pone hitting the floor, he turned his head and moved back on swift feet, blinking rapidly. Drust bent his head back just in time, Ghent’s knuckles brushing against his skin, only nicking their target.
Still blinking away the effects of the flash, in a swift movement, Drust moved to ram his forearm into Ghent’s to force it away, and jab his other fist toward the left side of Ghent’s rib cage.

While Drust avoided the brunt of the attack, Ghent felt an explosion of pain on his side. A punch from Mrs. Saxon's son felt like a love tap compared to this guy. Ghent was out of his league, but his stubbornness prevailed.
"Some guardian." Ribs throbbing, Ghent coughed, his eyes never leaving Drust even as Elayra's words reached his ears. Feeding? Feeding what? Drust's anger? The Curse?
Ghent believed himself clever, but cleverness wasn't enough. Not when facing up against a trained knight of Wonderland. Winning wasn't on the agenda, surviving was.
Doing what he could to regain his footing, Ghent tried again. This time, he aimed a punch at Drust's chest; Ghent's other arm had been successfully forced away, and so he aimed a knee to his midsection as well.
"Hey! Blondie! If you're going to run for it, now would be a good time!"

With the aid of the bottom box of her makeshift seat, Elayra pulled herself to her feet. She did not need to look to know Ghent would be taking a beating. As fast as she could, she hurried to collect her sword as Ghent threw his second punch.
Drust easily turned and slid back, avoiding Ghent’s attack, and reached to grab his extended forearm. Using the force of the missed punch, Ghent's disadvantage of his weight being temporarily on one leg, and his own strength, he moved to pull Ghent's arm down and over to force him to turn, and wrench it behind his back between them. Upon success, he used his other hand to jerk Ghent’s free arm into the same position.
As Elayra, with no intention of leaving, grabbed her sword, she bumped into one of the shelves, making the contents rattle and shift. But the shadow of the objects quivered as if confused, and expanded for a short second before settling back down.
“Drust!” Elayra spun toward the two, a sense of panic in her eyes at the prospect of having more than just Drust fighting against them in this too-small space. “Shadowmire!”
No sooner had the word left her mouth, then the shadow hiding beneath the shelving spread over the boxes covering the back wall near her. Its wispy grayness deepened into a swirling black oval nearly the same height as her.
The lines in Drust’s eyes pulsated and receded a fraction from his pupils as they looked from Elayra to the pair of menacing red eyes that had begun to glow in the heart of the darkness. A short, grinning whiskered maul emerged from the shadow. He tossed Ghent none too gently to the side and drew his katana with a fierce, “Get out of here!”
Elayra ran by him, pausing only to reach to take Ghent’s wrist and pull him toward the exit behind Drust, the door still cracked open.
At the exit, Elayra cast a quick glance back as a roar like a wild panther echoed from the shadow. A mix of concern for Drust and resentment for not being capable of fighting the shadowmire rested on her face, but she did not stop.
Just before the door started to close behind them, another shadow flitted out into the night behind Ghent and Elayra like a serpent slithering after its prey.

Another missed attack. Great. This couldn't have gone much worse.
Ghent couldn't keep himself from shouting out in a combination of pain and frustration as he felt his arms twisted in such an unnatural way. Drust's grip was stronger than he could have ever prepared himself for, and any chance of escape was gone.
Since Ghent couldn't move his upper body, he struggled using his lower half and made an attempt to kick Drust in the shins. By now, Elayra had regained her footing, and not a moment too soon. A fourth member had joined the party.

One moment, Ghent was restrained. The next, he was shoved to the side. To prevent himself from hitting the ground, Ghent caught hold of the shelf and gasped as he witnessed a curious looking shadow take form into a terrible, blackened monster with eyes so eerie they rivaled Drust's. "What the...?!"
Feeling Elayra take hold of his wrist, Ghent followed, but he couldn't tear his eyes off of the creature. Was this the Curse? Did the Curse have a form?
Ghent's questions were never voiced; his words were caught in his throat. The roar was enough to snap Ghent out of his trance, and he practically pushed Elayra out the door. Wonderland's curse had made its way to Earth.
"Did you see that thing?!" A stupid question, really. Who could have missed it?
"We have to get out of here!" Ghent wasn't going to stick around to see who won, he moved ahead of Elayra and started to pull her towards the street, oblivious that a second shadow was already perusing them.

Elayra cast Ghent a quick glare in the dimness of the unlit alley when he all but shoved her outside.
“Do you think I’m blind?” she returned as Ghent passed her up, him pulling her instead for a moment before her pace evened out with his. At least he was fairly fast.
The lights of the street ahead cast a friendly, almost welcoming glow at the end of the dark alley. Elayra still grasped her sword in her free hand as the road grew steadily closer, her head swiveling in a vain attempt at spotting anything in the shadows already saturating the alleyway.
When they neared the road, a stream of shadow shot just beyond the curb and pooled into another oval on the concrete.
If Ghent did not immediately stop, Elayra tried to pull him to one a couple feet from the halo of light cast by the nearest streetlamp, and stepped slightly in front of him as the beast traveling within the shadow leapt out onto the sidewalk.
The beast’s face resembled that of a panther, only flatter as if someone had hit it a little too hard with an iron skillet. Its long tail twisted behind it, curling in ways it should not have been capable of curling. The fur on its scrunched-looking body appeared segmented, the strands of hair a vibrant red save for two black three-leaf clovers, one on its head and the other near its tail. It grinned in a way only a Wonderland cat can, showing off its unnatural mouthful of sharp fangs, its glowing eyes filled with both an intelligence and malice that radiated a taste for flesh.
Pulling from Ghent’s grip, Elayra took a small step toward the cat, the beast’s head about level with her bellybutton. She pushed the fatigue that had been weighing her down to the back of her mind as well as she could.
“Are you lost, poor kitty cat?” she taunted, a cruel gleam befitting Curse-ridden Drust entering her eyes. It would seem she would get her wish of fighting the wretched beasts. “It’s a shame your master gave you too much leash, little pet.” A sadistic smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, while the beast gave a low growl and bent, ready to pounce. “It’ll be enough for me to strangle you with.”
With an echoic, throaty roar, the shadowmire lunged. Its body stretched and thinned at each of the lines in its fur, slinky-like, revealing red, scaly skin between rings of fur, its long, sharp claws extended toward Ghent and Elayra.

"I thought you weren't supposed to feed it!" It was alright for Ghent to break the rules, but when Elayra did, he called her out on it. Elayra's taunts seemed to fuel the shadowmire's temper, and before Ghent could protest, the nightmare fuel lunged straight for them. "Look out!"
Without warning, Ghent tackled Elayra from the side and brought her down, sword and all. Hitting concrete was better than being mauled.
"What'd you do?! Leave the portal open?!" Ghent scrambled to his feet, but not without helping Elayra too. They had to get out of here. Fast. Their attacker could, and likely would lunge again.

Police sirens were heard in the distance, and through his inner panic Ghent found himself wishing that the cops were headed their way. Would a bullet even stop this thing? If this was any example of what Wonderland had to offer, Ghent wanted no part of it. Chances were, he wouldn't survive long enough to meet his real father. Earth was looking better all the time.

Mind in a frenzy, Ghent held out an arm to prevent Elayra from charging forward. Ghent barely knew her, but he'd read the signs. Stubborn, hotheaded. Elayra wanted to fight this one out. For Ghent, fighting a demonic shadow with fangs and claws was a big no-no. Running was a big yes.
"Are you insane?! We need to go!"

Elayra ignored Ghent as the shadowmire played into her hand. She crouched, her malicious grin only widening and sword held in a neutral position as she waited for the last possible second to push Ghent out of the way and go in for the attack. But Ghent apparently had no desire to wait for the last possible moment.
She shouted in surprise when Ghent tackled her, throwing both himself and her well from the beast’s path and to the hard ground.
The shadowmire landed on soft paws, the scaly skin retracting into the fur with the force of its landing.
Careful to keep a grip on her sword this time, Elayra, a snarl twisting her face, pushed Ghent from her. What sounded like a series of sirens went off further in the distance, but they were faint enough for her to pay them little mind. If it was something else after them, they still had time, and it would just have to wait its turn.
“You moron!” she growled as she hurried to her feet, refusing aid. It took an extra moment, her muscles slow to react, but stand she did. Taking a quick mental note to account for that while facing the shadowmire, she drew her dagger, turned to the beast, and moved to rush it before it could regain itself and focus back on them, but Ghent held out an arm.
“Are you insane?! We need to go!”
“Then go!” she said, her furious words rushed. Her grip on her sword tightened as the beast’s glowing eyes turned toward them, part of its body expanding to create a partial U shape. “There’s no time to explain! Either run,” she threw her dagger near Ghent’s feet, where its tip embedded harmlessly into a crack in the concrete and making it stand up at an angle, “or make yourself useful!” She raised the tip if her sword threateningly. “But stay out of my way.”
With that, she moved around Ghent, prepared to push him out of her way if need be.
Elayra made a tisking sound as she hurried away from Ghent to keep the beast from going after him instead. As she expected, the cat’s eyes settled on her. “Aww,” she began in a mocking baby voice, “the ‘ittle kitten is too slow. Poor thing. You must go hungry without your mother around.”
The cat gave a hiss that sounded more like stone grinding on stone, its claws digging into the concrete and fur prickling.
With her back angled toward the wall of the alleyway obscured by the night, she placed her empty hand almost thoughtfully to her chin and gave a sad shake of her head. “It’s a wonder your master hasn’t just put you and the rest of your litter out of your misery.”
Elayra’s confident attitude faltered when, instead of just lunging out of blind anger, the cat grinned, its tail curving into various impossible shapes.
Another angered growl came from behind her a second before another pair of glowing eyes appeared in the wall as the first readied to jump.
Elayra looked behind her as another shadowmire emerged from its own shadow a couple feet above the ground, this one an inverse of the first with black fur that made it nearly impossible to discern, and red three-leaf clovers.
She leapt out of the way, expertly tucking her sword in and summersaulting as she hit the concrete. One of the cats claws ripped the hem of her dress and made her summersault give out sooner than expected, but she still just managed to get out of their reach.
The two cats, black and red, collided with each other with an earsplitting yowl. Their extended bodies scrunched inward when their skulls hit, a pair of accordions squeezed by an infuriated musician.
A gloating, vicious smirk on her face, Elayra got to her feet and stepped toward the red one’s flanks, enjoying watching the cats untangle themselves with a series of frustrated snarls and growls.

"Oh, so now you give me a weapon?" Ghent retrieved the dagger, surprised by the weight of it. The blade was well crafted and impeccably sharp; he could only pray that it would be enough to bring the shadowmire down.
"Could've really used this ten minutes ago when our guardian went ballistic!" Despite his complaints, Ghent was thankful to have something to defend himself with. A punch against this creature likely wouldn't have gone far, but now he had a chance.

Unfortunately, Ghent's plans to attack were cut short. A second shadowmire appeared out of seemingly nowhere.
"There's another one!" Ghent had a talent for stating the obvious. Panicked, he moved himself to join Elayra, and not a moment too soon. The two shadowy monsters collided with a sound so horrible Ghent nearly abandoned his weapon in order to cover his ears.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Ghent grimaced towards Elayra, deeming her guilty of insanity. She /had/ to be mental, who in their right mind would take a dire situation so lightly?

The shadows were currently entangled, giving the teenagers a chance to run. Unlike before, Ghent didn't bother to suggest this. For Elayra, escaping wasn't an option, and Ghent doubted he could tote her off without risking a few broken ribs for his efforts. Elayra may have been a princess, but she wasn't a damsel in distress. Ghent was another story. 'Distress' was written all over his face.

"Okay, talk to me! How do we kill these things?!" Ghent held the dagger with both hands, keeping the weapon in front of him as if the very sight would be enough to ward off the twin shadows. Apparently, hand to hand combat wasn't the only thing he needed to brush up on.

“Can’t even keep track of each other! How have you survived this long?” Elayra called as she stepped beside Ghent. She cast him only a quick glance, not wanting to take her eyes from the shadowmire as she waited for them to sort themselves out, their forms currently one unpredictable mass of snarling fur, scales, claws, and teeth.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely,” Elayra answered, twirling her sword once beside her. She was surprised Ghent had chosen to stay instead of run, and unsure which she would have preferred.
At least now he was asking the right questions.
“Keep them angry, and you’ll keep them stupid and out of their shadows,” she explained as quickly as she could as the beasts nearly freed themselves of each other. “Inside, they’re virtually untouchable. Outside, they can be killed like any animal. Leave the leader—the red one to me. Watch out for any others, and do not let them escape!”
Untangled and enraged, the red cat stood on its haunches, its body spreading out as it slashed out with a clawed hand at the black one, making it cower away with another series of grinding hisses.
Elayra twirled her sword once more. “And do try to not get yourself killed!” she called as she sprinted off toward the red cat.
Not wanting to take any chance of her legs not offering full cooperation, she ran closer to the beast than she thought comfortable, the cat still stretched out on its hind legs so it towered above her, and attention on the black shadowmire. As its body began to bend down and turn toward her, she jumped onto its back near its extended neck.
The moment she touched it, the beast roared and started to buck, trying to throw her off, but she gripped a handful of the beast’s fur and skin as hard as she could and held on, its movements making it difficult to position her sword where she wanted it.
“No wonder you’re such a low suit, little clover-kitty! Such a disposable creature.”
With another snarl, the cat arched its back violently.
Elayra released her hold, letting the cat’s action propel her upward and forward the last few inches she needed toward its head, and gripped her sword in both hands, blade facing down.
She hissed when she felt the cat’s tail wrap around her leg, and angled to make herself fall faster as the beast’s tail tugged.
It was difficult to tell which happened first; the cat let out a pained, gurgled howl when Elayra’s sword drove into the space between fur and scales where the textures met at the base of its head only milliseconds before the cat’s shockingly strong tail yanked her from its back and flung her across the alleyway.

Ghent had a strong suspicion that the red one was the stronger of the two, but he certainly wasn't going to protest. Contrary to him, Elayra had proven herself more than capable in combat. "Red's yours, Blackie's mine. Got it." Ghent did not argue. Taking on the less powerful of the two was fine by him.

With Elayra engaged in combat, that left Ghent and Blackie.
Ghent had angered Drust easily enough. Angering a temperamental shadow creature shouldn't prove much different.
"What's wrong, tiny? You the runt of the litter?" Keeping the shadowmire in sight was no problem; Ghent could hardly look away from the monstrosity. "Look at you! You're so small! You'd make a cute pet." Inwardly, Ghent was freaking out. Outwardly, he smirked and switched the dagger to his dominant hand. "Think you need your nails clipped, though...let me take a look, okay?"

Normally, Ghent would have lunged for an attack, but he needed to get in close enough to ensure that the creature wouldn't return to its shadow. "Here kitty...you're not scared, are you?" The taunting was going well until Ghent caught sight of Elayra being flung across the alleyway. Definitely not good.
Depending on how Elayra landed, she may not have been able to recover in time. If she wasn't, Ghent wanted to give her a chance to regain her footing without being torn to shreds.
"HEY! Red!" Ghent whistled, then motioned the stronger of the shadows his way. Coming up with a distraction was something he could do. "Over here!"