The Power of Five Oblivion

He hadn’t seen the chief executive officer of Nightrise since he had arrived. Not that he cared. There was certainly no love lost between them.
    Nobody stopped him as he had made his way through the open door and along a short corridor that sloped down into the ground, the strange blue glimmer showing him the way. The walls were once again natural stone with some sort of ingrained crystal, sparkling and cold to the touch. After about ten paces, the corridor suddenly opened and Scott found himself in a huge chamber with rock walls and ledges, a sort of conference hall with seating for at least a thousand people. Stalactites hung down from the ceiling. It was empty now but looked very much like a sports auditorium. Scott could imagine a fight taking place here. There actually was a sort of boxing ring in the middle with a white plastic floor, although it was surrounded by thin silver wire instead of rope. A wooden frame had been constructed inside it, a single, vertical plank with two rings stretched out on either side. It reminded Scott of a crude Totem pole and seeing it made him shudder. He took one last look around, then quickly left again.
    On the other side of the auditorium, further inside the mountain, he came across a workshop filled with shaven-headed, half-naked men, sitting at long tables, chained to benches. They were hammering at swords, spears, pieces of armour and shields that had just come out of the forge. The entire room was filled with a deep red glow and the heat was so intense that Scott could feel it burning his cheeks.
    He wondered what it must be like to slave away in there twenty hours out of twenty-four, finally sleeping, still chained in the same place. Scott watched as a man pulled a helmet out of the flames and plunged it into a pool of water. Steam hissed. The room was being patrolled by yet more shape-changers. He saw one of them with the head and single wing of a vulture. With his human arm he trailed a whip, which followed him like an ugly, brown snake that could strike at any time. The hammering continued, the clank of stone against metal suddenly a little faster. Scott moved on.
    A short while later he found a fissure in the rock that led outside and he made his way to the gatehouse and the massive wooden doors that were bolted shut, keeping the enemy out and perhaps the slave workers in. The walls stretched out on either side. He turned round. The bridge between the two towers was ahead of him. Scott examined the mountain that veered up behind. It was completely vertical, sheer and glistening, with no obvious footholds. It would have been impossible to climb. It was just like a solid wall with no visible way through.
    And yet there was an opening, a cave that ran in several metres before disappearing into shadow. The mountain was black granite but water had trickled down, forming icicles. It gave the entrance the look of a snarling mouth. Scott walked over to it. There was a chain hanging across the cave entrance. Why had someone decided to bar the way? He looked more closely and saw a sign carved into the rock, a five-pointed star. He recognized it at once. He had seen exactly the same at Lake Tahoe, at the church in Cuzco and even in Hong Kong. He knew exactly what he was looking at. This was the twenty-fifth door.
    Now he understood why Chaos had built his fortress in this place. Locking the doors hadn’t been enough. He had made sure that he ruled over them. If Matt or Pedro or any of them tried to travel to Antarctica, they would find themselves surrounded, locked in. They would be captured at once.
    He moved closer. The chain was made out of some sort of dark silver metal, the links surprisingly thin. He imagined they would snap quite easily. The lock itself was actually made up of two human hands, beautifully carved out of white ivory and clasping each other, the palms interlocked, slender fingers bending round. As Scott approached, he heard a strange buzzing sound. He looked into the cave. He had no idea how far it went but guessed that eventually it would stop at a solid wall. Unless, that was, the hands were unclasped. Surely that was the point? Then it might take him to London, to Italy, to anywhere he wanted to go. He reached out to touch the chain.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
    The voice came from behind him. Scott wheeled round to find himself facing two men, both of them wrapped up in hooded anoraks, padded trousers and boots. One of them was Jonas