The dream now dissolved and Galahad was back in the what seemed the misty waking world, he took stock in his situation. No armor or swords, not pack, nothing but his wits and bare hands to deal with what had to be the third wizard sent by King Morpheus.

The shadowy figure atop on the alter of the stone circle stood, now not shadowy at all and clad as Galahad, stood naked to the world. He bid Galahad to approach in a voice very familiar, familiar because the voice was his own. Galahad asked if this was real and the other stated that is was a real as it gets, he had died and he was now to bargain for the disposition of his soul.

Galahad could not remember dying and stated so, but as proof his alter-self told him to lay hands on the stone alter, for surely that would be solid and real and proof of reality. But when Galahad laid his hands on the alter they passed right through. The double of Galahad explained it was not the alter that was immaterial it was indeed him that lacked the reality of the world. He, Galahad was now adrift between worlds, and his next actions would dictate the final resting place of his spirit. The other told Galahad to look behind as well, and seven paces behind him was his own dead body.

Still Galahad would not believe. As additional proof the double offered to answer any question for him, for in the realm between worlds all answers were known. This Galahad had learned early in his spiritual training. Galahad asked what had become of Ionia, for she was the nexus of his fall. He still had lingering doubts as to the reality of her and of course if his final quest had been in vain. The double lifted an arm and a scene played out.

The dismal interior of a bed chamber was illuminated before Galahad and within slept the sad form of Ionia. Sudden the Dread King Morpheus burst into the room and began shouting and beating the frail girl. So infuriated was he that she had the opportunity to send out a dream of hope that he pulled a silver dagger and cut her head off. He then dragged her body away and had the chef prepare a feast of her body and the denizens of the castle were all required to partake of her. The scene was dismissed.

Galahad fell to his knees. All the hope he had carried was for not. He would never be able to complete his quest, for there was nothing to complete. The hope of the land was killed and now even Galahad had failed. He was crushed with grief and the folly of his errand. If only he had listened to his brothers, if only he were not swayed so easily by hope, if only he had been faster or stronger or possessed the magic required to save the land. But alas, he was but human and now a failed human.

The double smiled.

Again the double lifted an arm and before Galahad were a simple chalice and a sword of black. The alternate Galahad bid him to choose his worth, for when he selected and then used he chose, it would determine the final realm he would inhabit. The choice was simple, the Chalice of God, sip of it and be sent to Gods side for eternity, or the Sword of Wrath, fall on it and dwell in the pit as he should. His vanity had been so great, dare he to choose the chalice?

It was the cruelest thing Galahad had ever experienced, the ultimate choice of his fate. If he chose to drink from Gods cup, would he be accepted for this last vain choice? If he fell on the sword, would God not then see his contrition and pluck him to his side as his last act had been the ultimate sacrifice for God? Did it even matter what he chose? Galahad did not know.

Drinking from the cup could also show the he accepted the grace and trust of God sending him to his side. Likewise, throwing himself on the sword was an act of suicide and thus a mortal sin and he would indeed be banished to the underworld for all time. He looked up at Galahad who bid him to choose, after all he did not have all day. All day?

Galahad rose having made his decision. Galahad stepped forward and plucked the floating sword from the air. He flipped the dark weapon, placed the pommel to the ground and gripped the tip preparing for the final thrust.

With great forethought and trepidation, he whipped the sword through the air and at the other Galahad, striking him square in the forehead. The world shifted once again.

Before Galahad was the Wizard of Mist bleeding profusely from a wound to the forehead by a three foot long wooden stake. The Chalice hit the ground nothing more that giant acorn cap. The body of Galahad behind him was nothing but a mere pile of leaves. Galahad went over to the Wizard and twisted his neck finishing him off for the defense of the land.