Note: The final chapter. It's been a wild ride. You can consider this story complete. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as I have writing it. I admit I had to finish this the moment I released the Ch. 9, because I felt that one was just set up and no pay off. Here is that pay off. It's also the longest, and I was tempted to split it into 2 chapters but decided against it.

Thanks to everyone who have read, reviewed, liked, favourited, hated it, etc.

By the time it was mid afternoon, they'd acquired the necessary stones to create the stasis trap. There was much debate as to where it would be placed that would incur the least suspicion in Strickler. Tobias suggested the front door, on the account of 'he probably thought we were smarter than that.', which did hold some credence as to combat the changeling's infallible wit. Instead of matching his intelligence in such a game, subverting it and using his own logic against him stood a better chance. Claire still held her doubts that the stasis trap would even work, but nevertheless suggested the kitchen, or the dining room. Unfortunately, there really wasn't much room for her to do a full circle around Strickler without drawing suspicion from any moved furniture, which was a required part of the chant, so that idea was struck down.

Eventually Barbara quietly pitched in, with the master bedroom, quickly explaining herself as Jim's disgust was evidently rising. " – I think it's better to make him believe that you guys aren't here.. Draal can return to the basement, and you three can hide until Strickler's trapped in this.. um, stasis.. chamber. Plus, the room is big enough for Claire to walk around in like is needed."

"Fine, but I'm hiding in the room and if he tries anything dirty I'm going to kick him in the gronk-nuks." the teen boy surlily stated. There was a slated door closet that he could use to hide out in. It would be difficult for anyone to see past through the slits of the wooden bars, so his concealment wouldn't be endangered. Barbara's lips twisted into a thin line, but conceded to allow her son that. If only it would put his mind at ease that, lying or not, Strickler was a gentleman.

"Claire and I will stakeout in Jim's room." said Tobias. "We'll keep the lights off and stay very quiet so he doesn't think anyone's here."

After the Trollhunters gang chatted some more regarding their plan, they moved to the master bedroom to set up the trap. The stones were aligned perfectly to how Jim remembered Angor Rot had laid them, with a brief bit of alarm when his arm was through the epicentre of the stones. Relief, then confusion washed over him when he noticed they were inert and inactive. He called for Claire to have a look at them.

She knelt beside him, brows knit in concentration as she tweaked the stones of the trap, but no matter what, it would not activate. Before panic of having to revamp the plan settled in, she rose. "Let me fetch the Shadowstaff, I have an idea."

A brief trip downstairs to her bag and back again, she did not question that the staff activated when magic, even if spent, was present. Pursing her lips, she vowed to search Blinky's library about dark artefacts and their quirks once the threat of the present was dealt with. Twirling it around in one hand, she pressed the tip of prongs against the stones and muttered an incantation she'd stumbled across in le Fay's spellbook, as the one to break a magical binding was not the only spell that had been translated. Her knowledge of Welsh was limited to Vendal's lesson, but learning how it was supposed to sound and flow helped her to cast it.

She ignored the warm sensation at the side of her face, like a migraine that threatened to bloom, only to dissipate after she pulled the staff back. Jim tested the trap again, lighting up when his arm was caught in the yellow beams of bars. Claire grinned, happy that she was successful, and yanked Jim free of the trap, recharging it once more. During this set up, Barbara had took the liberty of calling Strickler and inviting him over, something he had unabashedly accepted. With everything in place, all they had to do now, is wait.

Time seemed to drag on a lot longer now that the anticipation of their plan settled in their minds. Jim was perhaps the most anxious, even if all he had to do was remain quiet. He paced amusedly, in tune to the clattering of plates and saucepans in the kitchen as his mother went over the recipe he'd printed out for her. When following his instructions, she could make something quite decent: and most of all, edible. Claire and Tobias sat in their friend's room, with the latter laying on Jim's bed, and the former scouting outside for signs of Strickler.

"Anything yet?" came her friend's hopeful voice, only for a sigh to sound when she shook her head. She was morbidly thankful that everyone seemed to be nervous, though for Claire it was more about Angor Rot. They were banking on the hope that the unwilling servant was not compelled to assist the ringbearer when he was in danger: she wished one of the first things she did do when Rot initially set her to the task was research the Inferna Copula as well as the staff. There was more to it than met the eye. How much control did it truly have over Rot? Was she right in assuming he truly had been a begrudging participant to every command – or had he enjoyed the wanton slaughter the bearers asked him to commit?

Everyone had been against the assassin since he'd been a threat and perhaps she should heed that. There was a reason – a history, as to why NotEnrique had been so alarmed and subsequently appalled at her choices, or the grimness in how Blinky spoke of him. The fear hidden behind the affronted ire that Vendal put up..

Her musings were cut short as a sight of a familiar car was driving down the opposite street, soon to round to Jim's house. She pushed back away from the window and headed to the landing, calling down.

"He's here."

As much as he taunted the young Atlas about his dates with his mother, the longer the charade continued: the more Strickler grew to dread them. By no fault of Barbara, of course – it was the fact he did enjoy them so much and her company that it presented an unfortunate complication to his plans. He had never, in all his centuries of living, met a woman quite like her. He thought it perfect, initially. He could watch over the Trollhunter in his own way, both for Barbara and for the Janus Order. Yet.. it was foolish to think he could fulfil two duties, of which they were polar opposites of. Angor Rot's words still taunted him in the back of his mind. When the deed had to be done, Barbara would fall out of love with him.

He glared at his reflection into the rear-view mirror, watching the same, intense green eyes stare back at him judgementally. It was nothing more than a guilty pleasure to accept her invitation. He'd already secured all he needed – and the rest was a luxury he spoilt himself with. His analytical mind: the one that had plotted the course of the Order for hundreds of years, was nothing short of scornful. You don't desire her, he admonished, no matter how much he tried to quell his feelings, it never worked. You want normalcy.

Parking his car and stepping out, he smoothed down the neat, black turtleneck sweater, opting out of his blazer. Tidying his slicked hair, he moved to the back of the car to retrieve a bottle of vintage red wine, wrapped safely in it's cushioned paper bag, before stepping up towards the Lake residence. He tucked the wine in the crook of his arm as he rung the doorbell – the sounds of shuffling movement within.

He half expected to see the dour face of Jim when the door began to open, until a small smile warped his lips remembering that Barbara had said he'd gone to hang out with Tobias and Claire. No doubt the true nature of such a spontaneous visit was to discuss Troll-related matters. When the door was fully open, his eyes creased in subconscious adoration, gazing at the blue-eyed woman. She was a vision of beauty in his mind: soft, brown hair that was pinned back into a braid rather than her usual messy bun. She was out of her hospital scrubs as well, which was rare given how much the hospital demanded of her, in a fitting cherry red cardigan and complimenting cream dress.

Minerva herself could not hold a candle to her, he thinks, sweeping down to catch one of her hands in his and lift it just high enough to grace her knuckles with a chaste kiss. "Barbara," he murmured once he raised, still holding on to her hand. "You look.. enchanting."

"Thank you," she smiled warmly. It helped in her act that regardless of the reveal, her thoughts and feelings were still present. She knew Jim wouldn't understand quite yet: but it was not like a tap that could be switched on and off. Her gaze drifted to the covered wine, and she slipped her hand out of his reluctantly to gesture towards it. "May I?"

"Of course," he exchanged the package to her as he followed her, though stopped as she went through into the kitchen, his tendency to ramble cropping up as he made small talk; "It's a bottle of Chateau Lafite, authenticated at 2009. I find that the rich, smooth taste is quite enjoyable when savoured and drank slowly."

He did not mention that it was in fact authenticated in 1865, given to him as a gift from an old human friend that had passed away, who always bemused that Strickler never seemed to age and he looked just as sprightly as he did when they met. The bottle – and plenty like them with other gifts over the years – had always been a dark cloud of a reminder to him. At least this way, he could be rid of it and enjoy something good, even if momentarily. Strickler moved to the living room, sinking into the couch. It was far more comfortable than the wooden dining chairs.

He heard the pop of the cork and her mutter something about the cork's age. He suppressed a smile at her keenness, but indubitably, she did not question. Barbara returned into the living room with the two glasses of wine carried expertly in one hand, with the wine bottle in a bucket of ice in the other. She set it down at the foot of the couch before joining beside him. Offering him his drink, they clinked the glasses before taking a sip.

"It's good." admitted Barbara when she swallowed, their knees nearly bumping into eachother with how she twisted to sit partially facing Strickler. "I didn't realise a history professor's salary – or a principals for that matter – allowed you to afford such expensive luxuries."

He laughed, body slowly relaxing in her presence as his indomitable guard began to drop just a touch in her presence. "I admit, it may not be lucrative, as we cannot all be highly accomplished surgeons -"

"That's not what I meant!" she was quick to intercept, cheeks flushed at his joking implication, though he silenced her with a cheeky pat of her knee, his smile broad.

"- Rather that you would surprised about the things you don't know regarding me. I didn't purchase the wine in any case, it was.. a gift, from a departed friend." The truth, what a surprise. It almost sounded alien to him when he was being honest. She looked sympathetic to his loss, though her gaze drifted down to his stilled hand. It stalled, before he had the sense to draw it away from her knee to nurse the glass of wine instead.

"Well.." she started slowly, turning to face him completely, setting her glass aside to the couch-side table and clasping her hands over Strickler's free one. His thumb caressed over her knuckles instinctively, before he followed her lead in placing his glass away so that he could hold both of her hands equally. He could feel his heart quicken just a beat, mind swift to scorn, though it was blocked out by the sound of her voice. Barbara continued. ".. You know so much about me, and my son, naturally.. I think I'd really like to get to know you, Walt. Who you really are."

It'd hurt he'd have to give the same lies as he'd had before, but for a moment, being able to be in this position with her, he didn't mind.

"God, what's taking so long!" Tobias' harsh whisper cut through the silence, shushed immediately by a glaring Claire. He made some vague gesture to symbolise his displeasure, rolling on the bed to face her, propped up by his elbow. She was seated at Jim's desk, overlooking out of the window, swivelling slightly left and right in bored idleness as they waited for Barbara to finish her part of the plan. The quiet only lasted a grand total of two minutes before Toby spoke again. "We should just knock him out and cast the spell when they're both unconscious!"

"The second Strickler suspects something, he'll summon Angor Rot," she finally hissed, swerving to face Tobias. "And I don't know about you, but I can hardly have the concentration to cast a spell with him trying to murder Jim!"

"Ah, so you admit he's a murderer?"

She threw her hands up in indignation, though it was neither the time nor the place to butt heads with Tobias about his suspicions. Apparently it was wishful thinking to have thought his doubts had been eased back in Trollmarket. Maybe he just pretended they had in front of Jim. They both partook in some strange charade of wild gestures and rabid looks to convey a conversation until Tobias shot her a squinted glare and rolled to face the wall. Her face scrunched up and the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him was strong, but she resisted, gaze turning to look outside.

She froze in the seat.

Angor Rot was sitting on one of the roof tops. The winter evening made it far more darker than it should have, so he had no issue of the non existent sunlight. He was like a stony grotesque perched on the edge of a foreboding chapel, or adorned on the top of a steeple, if that church-house was stationed in a suburb. Dispite the grim visage, he looked casual, innocently carving away at another effigy with the dagger laced with Creeper's Sun.

Claire blinked and rubbed her eyes. He was gone. Perhaps all the stress of the past week had accumulated into hallucinations, which wouldn't surprise her. Maybe the staff's dark energies were finally infecting her as everyone seemed to believe, though it remained inactive in her bag. The bed creaked beside her and she could feel Tobias' eyes boring into her.

His glare dropped into something of true concern when she turned her head, white as a ghost. "Oh no," he muttered under his breath. "Let me guess, you spotted Angor Rot outside, likely watching this house because Strickler had the foresight to alert him that he was going on a date with Dr. L and they or at least Angor knew that we had the spellbook at some point and was likely going to plan for something like this in the coming days?"

Claire slowly nodded, amazed that when Tobias wanted to be, he could be quite critically accurate.

"Well, shi -" he was quickly silenced by Claire pouncing out of the seat to clamp her hand over his mouth once the sound of muffled steps began ascending up. Her grip tightened much to Tobias' discomfort as two sets of footfalls moved across the landing to the master bedroom. She ignored Toby trying to claw at her hand until he yanked her wrist downwards to breathe, though the loud inhale made both of them tense up like they'd stepped on a mine.

The sound of a door opening was heard, as well as it whining on it's hinges when it was pushed back, but not entirely closed. Claire released a sigh she didn't know she was holding, pulling away from Toby as the most crucial part was put into place. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours, until finally they heard Jim's voice.

"Claire, Toby? Come say hi to Mr. Strickler."

They exchanged a look, with Claire taking a moment longer to stare out of the window, hoping she really had just imagined Angor Rot's presence on the rooftops. She grabbed her staff and the parchment with the incantation, trekking across the landing towards the master bedroom. The glow of the yellow stasis stones were unmistakable, and when they pushed the door open fully, they could see a chuffed, armoured Jim circling a forlorn, trapped Strickler, whose face was etched in that split second realization of betrayal. Barbara looked everywhere but at the obvious sight in front of her.

"The plan totally worked." the teen boy beamed, resting the sword of Daylight over his shoulders, the thing seemingly weightless to him after so many weeks of training with Draal. He'd strengthened considerably from the scared fifteen year old boy before he stumbled across the amulet. Claire was sure that Barbara would be proud – after the initial shock of everything had truly lessened. Jim looked to his friend expectantly, to which she nodded, clearing her throat.

"You should, uh, hurry up, in case you know what decides to enter you know where," cryptically Tobias said to Claire's shaking head and directed glare, as well as Jim's confusion, but stepped up to centre stage nonetheless. She could see Strickler's eyes shift ever so slightly, tracking her movements, but he was completely paralysed. Even she felt a little pity for him. She rose the staff – startled to find it had already unfurled from it's hilt and was ready to use, the wood still bleach-white. It had sensed her intention and acted accordingly: as a conduit for magic in the form of a focus.

Closing her eyes, she tried to blot out the presence of the other teens, that the only people in the room was she, the caster and the two cursed. Exhaling very slowly, she lowered the staff to have the prongs pointed at Strickler, her voice starting out as a low hum, before it picked up to enunciate the first word of the song-speak.

"Torrwch nhw allan o'r llwch sych hwn.
Torrwch y cadwyni hyn oddi arnyn nhw."

She repeated this incantation several times as her feet seemed to move on their own accord, circling around the stasis trap, stopping only to loop around Barbara as well, the pointed staff unwavering. Her eyes seemed unfocused as the foreign power flowed from her lips, down her gullet, through her arm and to the staff. It seemed to hum with an energy she hadn't felt before. No longer did it sap and drain her, but rather invigorate. The side of her face felt warm again, like when she had re-energized the stones of the trap, and had she not been so invested and trance-like in the spell casting, she might've noticed the petrified stares of her peers.

Claire had never felt so alive. It was like an energy that had always been present though locked away suddenly sprang forth inside of her. It was quite like the first time she used the Shadowstaff, just without it feeding from her. It was directing her energy into the spell, for she was sure if she didn't have the staff, she might have exploded with how much her insides were like a buzz of active bees.

She finished the tenth repetition of the incantation – punctuated by a sharp gasp from Barbara as the butt of the staff slammed down. This time it did not fill the room with darkness, rather a noise of finality. Snapping out of her state, Claire felt her muscles give way and she leaned heavily on the bark for support, stumbling a little. She blinked a few times to regain a clearer vision, looking back at the frozen faces of terror on their faces.

".. What?" she asked, brows furrowing. Tobias had the decency to shakily raise a finger and point repeatedly at her face. Her head turned to catch sight of herself in the mirror – eyes bugging out as the sigil of Angor Rot was on full display, burning with such intensity she hadn't even noticed during the mantra. She touched it and wince. It hurt like she'd been scalded and stung sharply. Why did it appear.. ?

"N-Nevermind that.. for now.." Jim breathed, though he look quite beside himself. His priority was torn between mother and crush, though the former won out by a mile once he stepped to her. "Mum, do you feel any.. different..?"

"I feel like a tight jacket I've been wearing has suddenly been unzipped." she explained in the best way possible. Jim gave an experimental little push against Barbara after she nodded her consent, and watched that such an action did not repeat upon Strickler. He wasn't entirely convinced, which Barbara saw.

"Look," she said, pinching her skin on the back of her hand with a quiet 'ouch'. Strickler, although trapped, would have been able to make some noise. He was silent. The bond had been broken.

"Nice work, Claire." he praised, turning back to face her and stopping once again at the sight of the sigil. She looked to be in mild pain. He approached her side and wrapped her up into a hug, regardless of the company present, tightly drawing her inward. He felt her slump against him gratefully whilst his mind suddenly reeled at the fact that he had managed to hug Claire without an inch of awkwardness.

She pulled away, gaze drifting back to their unwilling house guest. "So.. how exactly are we going to get the ring off from him?"

"I thought of that." cheerily Jim stated. For a moment she thought he actually had, until his plan consisted of stepping back and charging at Strickler with enough strength and speed to knock him out of the trap without catching himself in it. They both tumbled to the ground with a loud thud to the chorus of shocked gasps. They rolled, with Strickler at a disadvantage being in his human guise against the armoured champion of Merlin. Jim managed to land on top and didn't think twice before hitting a particularly vicious right hook into the changeling's cheek – something Jim had wanted to do for months.

"Toby, get Dr. L out of here!" Claire ordered swiftly and for once, Toby did not question or snark her judgement, stepping around the brawling two to grab at Barbara's hand and tug her out, no matter how much she struggled and tried to raise her voice to stop the two from fighting. The teen girl ducked under the flying elbow of Jim as he struggled with Strickler on the floor, shutting the master bedroom door and sliding a chair to block any attempts for Barbara to enter the fray.

Now that they wouldn't have an audience, Strickler's eyes flashed a dangerous yellow and red, backhanding Jim across the jaw to get him to relent, allowing him to shove him away and transform into his troll form. They both scrambled to stand, iron quills jutting out the cracks in between his fingers as he snarled and spat in fuming anger.

"You stupid boy!" he cursed. "Why could you never see that I was just trying to help you – help us ALL!"

"By wanting to kill me?!"

"You will doom us all," he growled, the changeling and Trollhunter circling in the pitiful space they had in the bedroom. "Giving you a swift death at the hands of either myself or by Creeper's Sun is better than what Gunmar will give you when you partake in your suicide mission! But no, you let your childish, pathetic immaturity rule your reason. I will not have this world stained with the death of millions when Gunmar's army storms through because of your cack-handed attempt of heroism!"

His red, furious eyes shifted to Claire, quills pointed towards her. The sword of Daylight manifested into Jim's hands as he stood between her and Stricklander, expression conflicted as he clearly was considering the troll's words, despite himself. The changeling continued without missing a beat.

"You have already sealed yourself for a fate worse than death, chit. You do not realise the power you meddle with, the attention you have. I tried to protect you. I offered you a place where your talents would not be abused by forces beyond your comprehension, or squandered by that deluded elder of Trollmarket." His lip curled to show his upper, smaller tusks. "How foolish I was to believe you were smart."

Claire bristled, mouth opening to retort hotly when Jim cut in for her; "I've had enough talk. It's time to end this, Strickler!"

Jim rushed forward, his blade connecting with the swipe of Stricklander's quills as they duelled. He was evenly matched, blow for blow, though the boy's pent up anger and frustration that had built for months was put forth behind every swing, even overpowering the changeling at times enough for Jim to get in a slash of the blade. It nicked across his arm, to which he howled as pure daylight pierced his stone flesh. Had it been any deeper, he knew it would've cauterized immediately and the arm would be lost.

He ducked under another slash, launching the handful of quills towards him. Jim was forced to back up and go on the defensive, eyes squinting in pain as one managed to slice his cheek. Stricklander tugged out more of the knives from his collar, not allowing Jim any time to recover his footing. He struck out, managing another glancing blow against Jim's sloppy parry, and he had to bite his tongue from barking out for him to correct his duelling stance. Ever the teacher.

"Jim – the ring!" Claire called. It would be too risky to join the fray, not without armour like him. She stayed far back in the room, watching the battle with rapt, heightened investment – in any case, the last thing she wanted was the ring to get accidentally destroyed within the fight.

Jim made some noise that vaguely meant he'd heard her. He dived under Stricklander's strike as he roughly ploughed his shoulder into the troll's gut. The touch of armour on his skin hurt enough, being infused with daylight, though thankfully was not as deadly as the blade itself. They were both sent careening to the floor again as he wrestled to acquire the ring.

Neither of them heard the shatter of a window outside of the bedroom, although Claire did. She looked up in alarm, then exhaled a sharp gasp when she noticed that the sigil of Angor Rot was still burning as fiercely as ever. No doubt he'd finally deigned to grace them with his presence. She carefully stepped around the pair to face the door, staff in hand – the bark starting to darken like spilt ink as she readied herself to defend her friend.

"You're.. too.. late.. !" the changeling puffed in between each attempt to shove Jim off of him, managing to raise his knee into the boy's armoured ribs. It wasn't painful, but it did knock the wind out of him enough for him to wrap his hands around the teen's throat tightly, one drawing back for his quills. He did want his death to be as swift as possible. Jim struggled and the sound of his choking breaths drew Claire to action.

Handling the staff like a bat, she swung it violently against Stricklander's head. It connected with a thunk, his grip loosening enough for Jim to kick him off and back away. By the time they both could orientate themselves, Claire was sent stumbling forward by the door practically being ripped by it's hinges by the ancient assassin. He had been called by the ring to it's bearer's defence. He surveyed the scene, though his sight was blocked when the teen girl stood between him and the duel.

"I see you've been quite busy." he mused, noting her lit sigil. She readjusted her grip on her staff and for a moment, it felt like nothing was there but them. "Being deceitful.. learning and casting spells from le Fay's spellbook – dabbling in such, dark magic, little hunter. Tell me, did you enjoy the thrill of the hunt? Capturing your half-breed, performing your incantation.."

Her reflexes had long since improved since the first time he'd ever visited her. The drawing of his dagger was swift, but her parry was quicker. Poisoned or not, the ancient stone blade could never break through the raw magic that surrounded Skathe-Hrün. She hissed through clenched teeth as she, for now, managed to keep up with his strikes. " – Enough, Angor. Get to the point."

He laughed, even as the prongs of the staff caught his wrist at a painful angle and drove his weapon hand away. His head dipped down, to bring them a touch bit closer in eye level as he said; "Do you really think after all this is over, you will be accepted as their friend? The other fleshbag considers you duplicitous. Your precious Orion will fold to his whispers and you will be left with nothing. Nobody."

A pause – the sounds of Stricklander's and Jim's battle nothing more than a backdrop to their conversation. The assassin's face twisted into a gruesome smile, as he added; "Except me."

He expected many things, but the powerful kick in the square of his chest, followed by the thrust of the staff into his gut was not one of them. Her response was like the crack of a whip; tone vitriolic. "You may call me Artemis, but unlike her I will not let you manipulate me into killing Orion." Angor was quick to recover, blade clashing against staff as a battle of power waged. Claire leaned forward, unflinching, voice lowering to a harsh whisper. "I don't know what I ever saw in you. I never want to see you again after your free."

Claire did not have any time to consider the fact that such a threat did not even anger the troll when Jim's yells pierced through the veil. Her head turned just enough to catch sight of him holding the ring up high, face looking rather battered with scars and scratch marks alike. Stricklander did not look any better. Angor zoned in on it, no longer feeling the compulsion of it's magic without a bearer. He used the distraction to overpower Claire and shove her unceremoniously aside, but she had learnt from last time. She used the staff to skid to a halt instead of connecting to the wall.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion when she witnessed Angor Rot advance upon a worn Jim. He made a beeline the ring – the weariness getting to the champion enough that when he scrambled back, he dropped the cursed object. Claire took a chance to create a small portal for the ring to fall into – heart pounding in her ears, blocking all sound but the heavy drum – and land in her open-palmed hand. Angor changed his course back to her, surging forward like he was about to tackle her or ram his horns to her skull, had she not created a second portal behind her. He charged her into it and the last thing she heard was Jim's frantic call before the void embraced her.

Stifled silence enveloped her like a familiar friend unlike the first time. The darkness was comforting, eyes long since adjusted to the absolute nothingness of absent colour. She did not drown, or flounder in desperation. She drifted, peaceful, floating out in the black sea of the black void. She felt lighter – lighter than a feather. She knew her heart was still racing for the beats still thumped in her eardrum, to a deafened tune. Tightly in her fist was the Inferna Copula, searing in her palm. Her sigil flared up the same.

She tried to think herself like bedrock, sediment sinking at sea so she could get away from Angor Rot. It was only when she let go of the staff to fumble with the ring did she begin to plummet slowly. She tried to slip it over her ring finger to quell Rot, but he orientated himself a lot faster in the monochrome muteness than she had. His hand crushingly grabbed hers, forcing her to yelp wordlessly as the ring continued to burn in her palm. She kicked, wiggled and tried to free herself, to no avail. Angor Rot grabbed the staff – and like a torpedo they shot upwards out of the dark.. and into real water.

A strangled gasp of air left her as the cold water bit into her flesh. Her legs kicked out rapidly, causing a splash as she tried to gain her bearings. The shore was not far from where they emerged, which is where she was being dragged towards. She further kicked, but Angor's grip was like a vice. He was an excellent swimmer, for living stone, and once they were on land, he hauled her ahead. The futility of the situation began to dawn on Claire, and once it had, she slumped like horrified dead weight.

Angor was no more kind now than he was back in Arcadia. He tossed her in front, though Claire braced her fall and rolled a little bit on the hard rock. She was soaked, shivering as every brush of the wind seemed intent to freeze her blood and bone. She angrily glared at the troll under her sopping locks of wet hair. He was making no move for the ring now. Why?

"Where have you taken me?" she spat, shakily standing up, trying to look at least confident, no matter how miserable and pitiful she actually did look. Claire winced as she peeled the ring very slowly from her palm, leaving a very sore, ring-shaped mark to blister. Trembling hands tried to turn the ring to wear, but no matter what, it burned her as much as the sigil on her face did. Then, she remembered.

Assurance. It made sense. Angor Rot did not want her wearing the ring. The assurance was for himself . Her mind could think of only one thing: Bastard.

She finally dropped the ring to nurse her injured hands, tears lining the rim of her eyes as a blazing glare flayed the smirking troll. He casually strolled up to her – unarmed, injured and freezing, she stood no chance – and knelt to retrieve his ring, inspecting it mockingly in front of her.

"Bulgaria." He grasped her upper arm, forcing her to face the mouth of the cave as he stepped forward once more, not quite entering it. He stood at his full height, bellowing; "Morgan le Fay! I call you! I have done what you have asked. Skathe-Hrün has chosen her worthy to be your acolyte."

There was a tense silence. Claire was stupefied, yet morbidly curious – and it was that curiosity that le Fay could sense. The touch of darkness the staff had imprinted into the girl, something the enchantress could mould. Nothing was seen of the Witch – but her presence was palpable. It was more crushing than the sensation of air pressure of the void, coupled with the overwhelming scent of dead roses. The teen thought she really might collapse or asphyxiate somehow, even when she saw a surprisingly human, soft hand reach out from the maw of the cave.

"Claire," the voice crooned. Why did it sound like her mother? It had to be one of her tricks – she knew if there was anyone to trust even less than Rot, it was fae herself. "Such promise in a girl so young.. yes.. I can use her.. you have done well, my champion. She will become a strong witch; I can sense it in her.. Skathe-Hrün has never failed me in it's choice.."

The praise did not change Angor's disposition, nor did the enchantress' words settle well for Claire. He continued; "Now release me from my service, hag. You no longer need a hunter. Let me be free ."

"On the contrary, my dear pet," the eldritch queen purred. It was steel hidden underneath layers of silk; velvety. Comforting like a mother, yet venomous like a snake. Claire thought it was a pale imitation of motherhood, yet no matter how much she knew this, it still sounded warm and lulled a false security. "I need you more than ever. I cannot tend to her growth whilst I am still imprisoned here on this Hell-forsaken island. Therefore you must see to it that she blooms. You will care for her. Nurture her abilities – teach her as a master of the hunt."

Another stipulation to the deal. He ignored Claire's quiet whimper as his grip tightened even more on her arm, threatening bruises as he glared scathingly into the dark abyss of the cave. She desperately wanted to speak, to interject, but found that she was voiceless, left to stew over her confusion and future. He growled; "Our deal– "

"Do you wish for freedom?! Then you WILL do as I ask!" The wind howled at her ire, the sea crashed against the shore and Claire jumped in fright. It settled down instantly when the witch took note of the girl. Her voice calmed, too. " – Release her. Let her approach."

Angor let go and gave her an encouraging nudge forward, which almost sent her to the ground. Claire wanted to do the exact opposite of what she was asked, but felt compelled to approach, like a magical rope was drawing her towards the entrance of the cave. She stopped where the light ended, and the darkness began. The hand was close enough to touch her face, which it did. It felt deathly cold upon her torched, marked skin. This close, however, she could see a figure.

Claire didn't know if this phantom figure was even what Morgan le Fay truly looked like. She was tall, but with a kind, soft face – eyes like her mother, Maria – and long black hair that cascaded into a braid down her back. Something that Claire always wanted. She tried to keep it in her mind that she was likely making her see what she'd like, rather than the truth. It did not settle her much, especially when her mere existence felt like dark matter was pressing down on her soul.

"You must be scared. You must have questions." she started. "Ask, my child."

"I don't want Jim to die." was the blunt, first thing that left Claire's chapped lips, throat hoarse. She elaborated with a pained tone. "He's.. the Trollhunter – and, I don't.."

"Shhh," le Fay hushed, letting her hand rise to brush some wet locks of hair off from her forehead and tuck it behind Claire's ear. "If you agree to become my acolyte.. your Jim will not have to die. The terms are simple, my dear sweet girl.. you merely have to study under Angor Rot. Learn our magic.. and when the time comes, when you have matured – I will call upon you and you shall answer."

She was so, so convincing. Every honeyed word was delivered with such sincerity, such love. Like what she asked of her was truly nothing much, and Claire helped so much. She didn't want to trust her, but her heart and mind was conflicted and torn. There was no escaping Angor Rot, either. She heard le Fay – they were bound, because of the sigil. She cursed him with every word she could think of under the sun in her mind. She hesitated, although le Fay was patient, for now.

"If I agree to be your acolyte.. what would I have to do? I don't want to hurt anyone.."

"Oh, no, no.." she cooed. "You will simply study the ways of our magic. All I ask of you, truly, is your time, my sweet. You need not hurt anyone you don't want to. Angor will protect you.."

There was so many questions that swarmed in her mind. Was Rot's actions truly because of Strickler's mishandling of the ring, and he had been working on the behest of le Fay the entire time? Why was she so important to the greatest enchantress known to rival Merlin himself? Why did she need her to be her acolyte – and were there others? What would she have to do when she was called?

None of these were voiced. They danced on the tip of the tongue, but refused to leave her lips. Claire's mind screamed at herself, but to no success. Morgan pulled back, the ghostly visage of her figure obscuring into the darkness as the hand remained outstretched.

"Do we have a deal, Claire..?"

She looked at the positives. If she agreed, it would take Angor Rot out as a threat against Jim. She would continue to grow her mastery with the Shadowstaff, which seemed to be much more linked with her than she'd like. She'd learn about magic, and practice it herself: as well as be able to be even more useful in a fight, to the upcoming threat of Gunmar when they all travelled to the Darklands. Although she vaguely remembered Jim did not have the stones, though no doubt he had beat Strickler up to hand them over.

Resigning to the fact that this was merely just an illusion of choice, and she really had no say in the matter, Claire slowly nodded and slotted her hand over le Fay's. "Y-Yeah.."

Her grip was stronger than Angor's and for a few tense moments, the wind picked up; the trees rustled violently. Claire didn't really feel anything different, other than the unsettling feeling of uneasiness down the back of her neck and in the pit of her stomach. Like a dreaded anticipation of a calamity to come. An innate sense that a natural disaster was to occur. The sigil continued to burn painfully, before it abruptly settled. It felt like a cold compress had finally treated it and her mind was put in a state of forced relaxation: aware that something wasn't quite right, yet still subject to whatever dark magic the fae had used.

"It is done." murmured Morgan, squeezing her hand in what Claire imagined was to be reassuring. It pulled back into the darkness, leaving them with just her voice. It sounded like she was smirking over a victory unknown to the teen girl. A wave of her hand released the ring from Angor's possession and into her own, slotting over her finger. As much as the ancient troll despised it's control over him, the closest thing to free will was when she wore it. "Leave now and rest. My champion will visit you to begin your first lesson when it is appropriate."

"I don't suppose there's another teacher, is there?" grumbled Claire under her breath, not intending for the witch to hear her. The sound of her laughter indicated that she had.

"Go," she said, less of a suggestion and more of a command. At the teen's slowness, Angor collected her, creating a portal with ease from the Shadowstaff before handing the artefact back to her. It hummed pleasantly in her hands – quite a bit different to the insatiable hunger she felt before. Perhaps it was well fed from the despair and hopelessness she truly felt at the moment. She exchanged a fiery glare at Angor Rot, before hobbled through towards the portal. He did not follow her: which made sense when the biting cold of Bulgaria's Black Sea warped into the warm hearth of the Lake Residence.

Everywhere looked.. abandoned. The dishes hadn't been touched, the carpet looked like it hadn't been vacuum in a few days. There was no way she'd spent any longer than a few hours tops in Bulgaria – right? She tentatively stepped forward, clearing her hurting throat to voice;

"Um, hello..? Dr. Lake..?"

There was a rush of sound from upstairs as Barbara descended, eyes red and puffy, face tear-stained. Claire almost fell backwards when the mother drew her into a tight hug. She stiffened for a moment as her muscles protested, before tired arms wrapped around the grieving woman, rubbing her back in small circles to try and soothe her. No tears fell from her great blue eyes – she might've already cried her last.

"Oh, gods, Claire," the older woman whispered. "You've been gone for an entire day."

Grimacing, Claire pulled away from Barbara uncertainly, gazing worriedly to her upset face. She didn't realize that she cared so much about her, but the teen had a feeling it was more because of her disappearance that had her aggrieved. She decided to cut to the chase and ask.

"Dr. L, what's happened – what's wrong?"

The doctor paced as she naturally did, one hand covering the lower half of her face as she shook her head, light brown hair in utter disarray as she seemed not to have changed out of her scrubs since learning some sort of news. She pushed her fringe out of her face, though stubbornly it fell back, and fixed her glasses before finally mustering the courage to tell Claire in a cracked, broken voice.

"He's gone, Claire. My baby boy."

Jim. Panic set in swiftly, mouth moving before she could even think; "Did Strickler – ?"

"No," Minor relief, though confusion, nonetheless. Barbara weakly explained. "He – Jim.. said.. he had to go a-and he might not come back, he's. He's went to a dark land. Toby wanted to w-wait for you. Everyone told him not to go! But.. y-you were gone, and h-he.. thought this was the best time, so he didn't have to – say goodbye to you. He just.. left! He left!"

The staff clattered to the floor. Claire didn't know what to feel. What to say. Hurt? Yes, unimaginably. She couldn't begin to express herself. It was like she was on auto-pilot, slowly lowering to sit at the nearest chair, staring despondently at the ground. A mounting anger begin to bloom to rival her upset: he promised they would go as a team. He promised. She'd been right thinking that Jim would try something like this from his actions.

He was going to face Gunmar alone, and he never even said goodbye.