RADIANCE SPREAD FROM EVERY WETTED SURFACE before it faded into the ether and vanished.

  "Whoa! I think you, did it? Well, almost did it!" Whiskey said, excited for him.

  "Maybe?" he said. "I did something. What I can't exactly say, though..."

  He stepped closer to the fae construct. He was thankful for it being rooted in place, knowing as he did, it held violent aspirations for them, assuming it could get close enough. He saw wetted spots from where they had tossed bucket after bucket of water. Much of the water they had thrown had since spread over the floor and found its way into the corridor. "Let's dump those final two buckets and try again," he told Whiskey.

  "Okay," Whiskey said, getting up and saying, "I think I am done as well. My mana is drained. I will help you but after, I think we should call it."

  Although he thought she was giving up too easily, he also knew everything she spoke was true -- it had been a demanding day. He was happy she would stick it through with him for as long as he needed her help. For a while more, anyway.

  "Oh? Weren't you just saying to Jie how we should continue and not be lazy?" he teased.

  "Things can change. And I wouldn't say I said that... not in so many words, at least," she replied back with mirth but increasing edge.

  Whiskey then took the buckets in hand, one at a time, and tossed the water against the wall.

  "Think the third -- or is this the two-thousandth? -- time is the lucky charm?" Whiskey asked, slightly short of breath after throwing the buckets.

  "I will hope it is because I am really getting tired myself. My mana is getting low. I can feel it in my bones..." he replied.

  "You can feel your mana?" Whiskey asked.

  "Sort of, but please, silence--" he said, this time getting down to his knees so as to make a more full-bodied connection.

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  With hands on water, he closed his eyes, and focused on his arms, how they felt, and how the water felt on his skin. It wasn't any different than normal, strictly speaking. Although the cold surface of the bunker-material did make the water feel especially cold. He imagined the water in his mind's eye. He knew it stretched all over the floor and even upon the fae creature which made itself his enemy. He imagined he was actually touching the fae, using the water as proxy. Breathing in, slowly out, he channeled energy and held it within his limbs. Slowly, now having a better control over his output rate, in part, because of his many previous attempts at using water-incantations, but also because of the tedious labor he had performed earlier when he repaired those pickaxes using his mending 'talents,' such as they were. He felt and could sense through his closed lids, the bright glow coming from the water as the magic infiltrated every iota of the liquid. Whiskey oo-ed and awe. He felt the glow intensify.

  And then, a knot. A tangle of tension within the surface of the water. Was this the fae? He asked himself as he received the answer -- yes, for nothing else here felt as unnatural as the fae construct.

  He did not let the knot twist him and his efforts, though. His output jutted up some, yes, but he quickly corrected it. He breathed steadily and focused more on his limbs; he felt the energy there and how it continued to complement his muscles. He felt the warmth of magic even within his bones. Soothing.

  But then something happened he did not expect.

  He ran out of mana.

  How? He did not know. It happened so suddenly, like when a small child is told to run all over and around to tire them out before bed. Except he had not 'run,' so to say, he had paced his magical output. If in this metaphor, he thought, 'he' was the 'child,' he should still have plenty of goofing around to give before his tyrannous parents put him to sleep.

  Why his magic emptied without warning, he could not say. He felt nothing until it was too late, and his headset never grew the wiser, period.

  It ended before he knew what happened: his magic ran out, he didn't know why, but as he pondered, for a half-instance, why his magic ran out, moments before, barely even registered, Whiskey let out a gasp as a new, bad, smell filled the room. A popping sound preceded the bad aroma.

  "It's destroyed! You killed it!" Whiskey said.

  What did she mean? The fae?

  He opened his eyes to confirm.

  Where the wall had once filled with a strange buzzing haze which had been the body of the 'Unfun Gas' fae construct, now was just an empty wall of busted pipes. No hazy vapors, no buzzing-sounds from its gaseous body, no odd bunches of sound. Just quiet, normal, bunker.

  "And now it's gone," he said under his breath. Hardly knew it...