Milo stumbled out of the portal, falling onto all fours and gasping for air. His brain felt like it was on fire, temples throbbing and every muscle on his body convulsing with hot agony. What felt like cold stone lay beneath his burning palms, but the darkness surrounding him hid all from sight. He collapsed onto his face, breathing ragged. Some coppery tasting liquid exploded from his mouth, pooling around his head as he started shaking. Was that his blood he tasted?
"That… is too… bad. I had… thought… that this one… could handle the strain of the summoning..." He heard an old man's raspy voice say from over him "Wait… he is… not the… one we meant… to summon… how did… this happen?" The voice asked.
What was that geezer talking about? Why was he speaking in such a staggered manner? Milo grit his teeth in, trying his best to fight his hot agonizing pain.
"It does not matter." Another feminine voice responded, this one deep and husky "As you said elder Haylue, he cannot handle the strain. Let us be rid of this creature now and save the effort of casting the waves."
Milo grit his teeth harder, baring them like a savage animal as he struggled to lift his head. He could feel sweat rolling from every pore he had. His body was barely responding to his efforts, but his sheer determination was slowly winning out. He lifted his head to see an old wrinkly wizened face peering down at him, deep-set cavernous eyes staring down at him from beneath a gray hood. The old guy had a white beard that reached down past his chest, some hairs sticking to the gray fabric of his robe. Milo blinked, his eyes finding new light that he hadn't seen earlier.
The orange light flickered and danced, indicating to Milo that it was a flame. It hung behind the old man, outlining his spindly frame with orange. Milo coughed again, blood spattering the old man's shoes. He took a step back at that, wrinkly face grimacing at the fresh blood coating his fine leather shoes. Why weren't these people helping him? They needed to call an ambulance! His teeth ground harder against each other as another fresh wave of pain hit him, this one icy cold.
It felt as if someone had spilled an entire dump truck's worth of ice shavings onto him. Milo stopped moving as his skin began to go numb, the cold agony almost to much to bear. He almost collapsed but glared up at the old man instead, not letting himself fall onto his face. Milo needed to get these morons to call nine one one! He opened his mouth to speak, but the old man held up a finger.
Milo felt his jaw clasp shut against his will, biting off the very tip of his tongue and adding to the numbing cold pain he felt.
"Perhaps he… is… A capable host?" The old man said, circling Milo "He has… not perished… yet."
"The third wave will kill him. All the people we have summoned from the Outworld for the past hundred years could not withstand it." The woman said again, this time stepping in close to the older fellow "When the soul is burned away, the body follows immediately."
She wore the same robe the old man did, but she was a head taller than he. The robe was tight against her well-muscled form, and the way she moved was like that of a compressed spring, ready to snap out at anything that threatened her. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and glared down at Milo, her long black feathery hair framing her face almost like a second hood. The way she looked at Milo was akin to that of a mantis ready to pounce on a small bug. Her high cheekbones and the way she carried herself made her seem like some kind of royalty, all confidence and swagger with each step.
"Some bodies have… survived it before… I have… a good… feeling about this one." The old man said, taking a breath between each group of words.
"His body is impressive, but you know as well as I do that our master isn't looking for a meathead to be his new vessel."
Milo shook his head at their words, the light in the room growing uncomfortably bright. He shut his eyes in response to the growing glow.
"The third wave begins." The woman said.
The light grew to an intensity that Milo had never been exposed to before. Staring at the sun would have been outright comfortable compared to the blinding agony that was growing in him now. A new pain soon followed after it, a pain that he could not describe. Not his body… but something deeper. His very soul itself. Milo felt himself burning away, and he screamed in raw agony. The light's intensity grew and just as he felt his mind beginning to melt away, he remembered something.
"If you give up now," His trainer said "You'll never get what you want. Give up anywhere along the way, even for a second, and you'll fail. Keep going. Don't stop. Doubt is the greatest obstacle to success. I know you can do this Milo."
He grit his teeth near the point of cracking, and somehow forced the light back.
Determination.
Keep going.
Do not stop.
Soon, the light, and the alien pain accompanying it dissipated. Milo's forehead knocked against the cold stone floor. He turned his head tiredly, laying it on its side. The cool stone floor felt nice against his temple. He felt drained, more exhausted than he had ever been in his entire life.
"I suppose your feeling was correct elder Haylue." The woman said as Milo's consciousness began to fade "The master will not be happy to have such an oversized body, but considering that he hasn't had one for over a hundred years… I'm sure he'll manage."
"Heal the body… now… if you can." Haylue said, wiggling his fingers at Milo "We must… be fast… before it dies."
Milo forced himself to stay conscious. What the hell were these freaks planning on doing to him? He struggled to rise, but his body wasn't obeying him, remaining absolutely still. His eyes met the woman's own, and they widened as she took a step back from Milo.
"His soul is still intact!?" The woman shouted, sounding genuinely surprised "His soul just got burnt, yet he stays awake! We must cast the third wave again, if his soul is intact it will not be replaced!"
"Are you… willing to… sacrifice your life… to cast it a second… time?" Haylue asked, raising a single bushy white brow.
The woman seemed taken aback by this, and stepped away from Milo towards the back wall.
"I did not… think so… We shall wait… for tomorrow… when our bodies… have recovered from… the effort." Haylue said, nodding sagely "Take him… to the cells Marish… have his body… healed. The master will… want an intact… vessel."
The woman, Marish, scowled and walked over to Milo's still form. He glared up at her, his fading consciousness reaching completion after receiving a well-placed boot to his face.