Cw - mild graphic content, suicide reference
Credit: https://www.wattpad.com/516478438-anka-kiz-24-b%C3%B6l%C3%BCm-d%C3%BCzenlendi/page/5
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"The spirits are angry with you, child. I can hear them calling for revenge. Can you?" Her breath tickles my ear, making me squirm. "Back when the realm rested in shadows, they were free and so full of life it would have made your soul catch fire if you saw them. Then, of course, that pesky little human morphed and shone light on this glorious world, turning it into the wretched thing you see today. But fear not," she coos, drawing her black fingernails on my forehead as I whimper, "for they are returning. Little by little, we, their followers, vowed to restore the darkness to this pathetic place you humans call home."
Her sharp fingernails scratch my skin and I struggle to keep my eyes closed, knowing that if I open them, I am doomed.
"Poor baby." She clicks her tongue and moves around the table she has strapped me on. "Don't be afraid. Once you get a taste of His Glory, you will never want to let go."
I pray to Galdur and the light he shone on the fiends all those eons ago, feeling its warmth grow inside me. But surrounded by the pitch-black walls of the cave and the damp air, its power wanes, and flutters away from my grasp. A stray tear rolls down my cheek when it leaves my body.
If even he can't help me now, what is there left for me?
"You are alone, my child. He cannot save you in your hour of need. Why would you devote your life to someone who can't be there for you, who would rather watch you die than jump into the lion's den himself?" The bracelets on her arms clink against one another as she caresses my cheek. "Why don't you want to be free?"
"Is that what you are–free?" I hiss, reminding myself I am dealing with a mindless servant, possessed by something as impure as the darkness itself.
Ever since the shadows began creeping back, the wraiths had returned with renewed powers, burrowing their way into weak hosts like this one. Only Galdur knows why this woman, with her voice so sweet, had let a wraith possess her. It's a sad day when a daughter of Aritheia abandons her body, thinking it was the only road to escape this world.
She drives her sharp fingernails inside my arm, and I bite my tongue. Screaming would only give her pleasure; it would strengthen her and weaken me. I mutter a silent prayer to Galdur, knowing–hoping–he can hear me.
And, for now, that is enough. I have to hope he will send help. I have never been afraid of death, but being possessed by a wraith is not even close to dying. Trapped inside a body I can't control, witnessing every torture I inflict on others is a fate anyone in their right mind would turn away from?
Why did she run into its embrace?
"Stubborn little child. He knows he will perish, and yet he still prays to his god. Let me tell you something about how your beloved saviour operates." Her forked tongue slithers beside my ear, and I shiver, fighting to regain control over my body. "He is not coming. He never does. That's his whole thing. A long time ago, he made a promise, but he has never kept his promises before, so why would he now?"
In your hour of need, children, I shall return. Inscribed on every stone wall in every city, these were the words that guided our faith. To let us know that even in the darkest of moments, our hope can, and will, save us. Some said he had already returned under the guise of a blind wanderer and was testing how well we had upheld his teachings by leading the faithful into the desert and watching if they let the wraiths take their souls. Others had lost their hope and laughed at the ignorant fools who still prayed every night, and who died fighting the shadows. Maybe she had given up hope, and it had been easier to let a wraith do the dirty work.
A life–no matter how miserable–was precious. If you took it, there was no coming back.
"This is what he's good at. He cheats and cons, and somehow people think he is the epitome of honesty, the symbol that good can prevail. My masters would never lie to you and would welcome you in their homes with open arms?"
"Why don't you speak his name, then?"
Despite my predicament, I smile when I hear her snarl. Galdur may not come whenever a human prays, but if one of his own, or at least the closest thing, calls out his name, he might just show up. And that would ruin all their plans.
She drives her fangs into me, and I scream, a piercing pain flaring up in my hand. Blood trickles down the length of my arm, tickling me, and I fervently mutter another prayer, my hope waning. But I laugh–it is the only thing I have left. And even in the darkest of hells, my laughter shall bring you back.
I steel myself for another bite, but she puts her mouth close to my ear and whispers, "Galdur."
The warmth of his presence twinkles in my stomach and I allow myself to exhale, knowing we had won the fight.
"What are you smiling about? He's not here." She says, and I hear her whirl around when she realizes her mistake. She growls and I can hear her mutter in the snake-tongue of the wraiths, "Netahli."
Bloodchild. An abomination. Galdur may be an abomination in her shifting eyes, but for me, he is the sunlight filtering through the black clouds, the merry chirp of a mother bird who comes to feed her children. He is love–and love always wins.
She knows she screwed up, and the warmth in my stomach only grows stronger while she frantically paces around the cave. But it's already too late; the whoosh of a sword being drawn alerts me that my saviour has come, and I open my eyes only to stare at the ceiling, with purple ringlets floating in my vision and a golden light in the corner of my eyes. His golden light unfurls my straps, but I dare not move, lest I get in his way.
The girl–or rather what was once a girl–vaults over me and I quickly close my eyes, so my soul won't get devoured. His breathing is ragged, and his footsteps are heavier than I had imagined; this fight must take a bigger toll than I thought.
But why? He is a god strong enough to fight the darkness. A little wraith should pose no problem.
"You've grown weak, Netahli," the wraith places one of her fingernails on my throat and I can hear him sheathing his sword even before she asks, "Put down your sword or I kill your little spawn."
"What a beautiful host you've found for yourself, Drasi. Let him go, now. This is not a fight you can win."
Even with my eyes closed, I know she is smiling, readying herself to dig her nail into my vein. I struggle not to gulp, my skin splitting slightly when I take a deep breath.
"Sorry I'm late, I was caught up fighting one of her many sisters," Galdur takes a careful step closer, his light touching me and soothing my fear. "Let him go, Drasi."
"Like that's going to happen."
But the strike never comes. Her blood gurgles in her mouth as, with a flick of his wrist, Galdur releases one of his spears of light, so dazzling I can see them even through my eyelids. A shower of brightness inside my soul; I open my eyes to bask in its glory, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
A pile of ash rests on the ground in the place the wraith used to be, and I rub my neck absently, realizing how close to death I had really been. Had the wraith not been so arrogant and foolhardy, I didn't think I would have made it through.
I turn to look upon Galdur, bracing myself for a tall man, clad in brown robes. When I don't see him, I swing myself from the table, only to notice he is on the floor, unconscious, and he is not at all what the portraits made him out to be. Not only is he short and stocky, but where his golden eyes should be, there are only two blackened pits, fuming like chimneys.
But the worst part about it all is that he's naked. Stark naked, like a newborn babe and, on his shoulder, I can see the tattoo of the darkness, growing larger and larger with every passing second.