CHAPTER 4 - New B0dy - [Part 3]
THE VOICE sounded. "Behind you …"
Eyes gaped, Aran spun around. He spun around only to see … his reflection. His reflection in the water. Peering right back at him. It had the same look he wore. But then, the corners of its lips dipped and its brows knitted.
"Give it back!" The voice erupted again. But the sound … it didn't emanate from the river. No. It was all in his head.
"I said give it back!"
Aran dropped to his behind, creeping backward and away from the river. Hands squishing in the mud. He was retreating yet that cold presence lingered in the air. Yet this … voice—in his head—persisted.
"I compel you! Give it back!"
Aran stopped midway his retreat, supine—flat on his back. His eyes peeled at the sky overhead and the curling tree branches at the corner of his eyes. He gasped. The cold waded. Through him, a burning sensation surged. He writhed, groaning.
His eyes rolled up in his head. His back curled inward. Then, a vigorous force slammed it right back into the ground.
Silence. Still. He lingered on his back for a trifle. His face calmed. His demeanor, serene. Thence, he deliberately climbed to his feet.
He looked down at his hands, scrutinizing them. Clenching and opening them.
"This numbness is what I cannot fathom," he frowned. And my body no longer feels like I am the one to whom it truly belongs."
He furrowed his brows. "The witch. Chandrelle. She must be held accountable."
"I'm guessing you're Eugene," a voice sounded from behind.
Aran looked over his shoulder. It was her—Chandrelle, holding thick vines in her hands. The one responsible for this enigmatic madness.
"You …"
"The royal himself," she said, smirking, "we meet again."
He, in turn, furrowed his brows and clenched his jaw.
"Why, we should have a seat and enjoy a cup o' together," she started toward him, "instead of doing this again. But you don't want that, do you?"
"I want my body back!" He snapped.
"And that you will receive," she continued to near him, "when Aran Hayes finishes with it. Whenever that is …"
He stepped back. "Aran Hayes is dead!"
"He's made himself anew. Haven't you heard?" She grinned. " There's a new Hayes now."
Aran sighed. "Fine. Have it your way then. Spells die once the caster is eliminated," his eyes burnt aglow, "I'm leaving. And when I return, I shall finish you off once and for all." A pocket of energy began to disperse, spiraling him.
Chandrelle channeled sith. Her eyes glowed. Her brows knitted. She bolted toward Aran. She swooped a hand toward him. He vanished out of the blue. Her hand soared through nothing but air. He was gone.
She heaved. 'Alright then.' She smirked. "I'll play a game or two before I head due Aradona. Just a few games."
***
"Nash, take it," a father said, giving an amulet to the youthful boy before him. "Cherish it with all your soul."
The little boy took the golden item and nodded. "I will."
"Look," the man placed a hand upon his shoulder, "I know it's been really hard for you after Nathan disappeared. But sometimes a little smile through the pain doesn't hurt."
The child frowned. Then, forced a quivering smile. "Do you think he'd ever return?"
"To tell truth you the truth," he shook his head, "I can't imagine odds in our favor."
The child lowered his head and frowned.
The man smiled. "You see, the way the world works …. Ahhh, it's quite deceiving, really. I've seen a lot o' things in my years. And people going missing isn't the worst. Not even close.
"About a month or two ago, I met this nice woman. Not that I was cheating on your dead mother," he chuckled, "like I said, I'm never gettin' married again. This woman would smile at you, help you around and bring a smile to your face as best she could. That's why no one in the village ever believed that she was truly a servant of the Black Empire like the obligators had warranted.
"After two accusations alone, we stopped seeing the woman entirely. The very night she bore a child, she just … disappeared. Nowhere to be seen."
The boy looked up at his father, a subtle sliver of disquiet on his face. "What happened to the child?"
"We don't know. But in all likelihood, he's just a pile o' undeveloped bones now. That's what I'd assume, mind you. We have no evidence to support the fact that they were killed. So, as usual, we simply say they … disappeared."
"Did you," the boy quailed, "do the same for my mother and Natan?"
The man looked his son in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Nash … I can't lie to you. But I can't tell you the truth either."
The boy averted his eyes, frowning again. He kept the frown until he heard an ineffable sound from behind.
Aran appeared amidst the same house. Sinister sounds and a violent whoosh upon his abrupt presence.
The father swiftly shot out of his seat, drew his blade; it shrieked, and stood in front of his son who slipped behind him, jamming the amulet in his pocket.
Aran slowly peered at him. Deliberate. Apathy in every inch of his eyes.
"I'm the one with the weapon. Don't you move. I haven't seen an Ulfon in years," the man clutched both his hands to his sword, "funny I should find one in my house."
Aran said nothing.
"You just appeared out of nowhere. You're a … Soulbound, aren't you?"
Aran had seen the amulet. It certainly wasn't an item belonging to the humans. It came from far: in the lands of Euloft; royal Ulfon property. Aran's face softened. The rift spell had brought him to the lost Ulfon, sacred item. But he figured he needn't bother. He turned, about to start toward the door when …
The father slashed his sword. But the Ulfon … he heard it coming. He heard the sword soaring through the air.
He took a step back. The sword missed him. The man slashed again. Aran sidestepped. He then knocked the weapon out of the man's hand. It clanked away on the marble floor.
Aran swept a hand upward. The man pitched into the air, and crashed into the roof. His neck snapped as his head slammed into the galvanize overhead. A reverberating crack.
Aran lowered his hand. The body fell, thudding to the floor.
'Why couldn't she be this incompetent? But no, of all things, she just had to be a powerful campaigner.' He thought, sighing.
His eyes then met with the child who stood a few inches away from him. There was a horrified look on the his face. He stood with a dagger in his trembling hands.
"You were about to press me with that," he looked at the dagger in Nash's hands, "weren't you?"
No response on the child's end.
Aran looked at his lower body. Sith emanated from the boy's pocket. A typical response that triggered when an Ulfon and a sacred item, in turn, went beyond dissociation and reached propinquity.
"The amulet in your pocket is Luveina of Ulei, the first. Use it to locate my body when you muster the prowess to come seeking revenge upon me."
From there, Aran simply shook his head and started toward the front door.
He made his way outside with a frown on his face and pressure on his soul. Pressure from the other being dwelling inside him.
"This fool just won't stop resisting," he knocked the heel of his palm into a temple. "Had it not been for him and that witch, I'd still have my rift."
It usually took him three months to regain his ability to rift. After refraining since he'd been captured by Yel, he only decided to use up one to escape Chandrelle.
But he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost his body, and a matter of time before Chandrelle came looking for him.
It all summed up to time: only time would tell if he'd make it to a Shaman where he'd regain full control of his body or not.
Time was insurmountable and unforgiving and merciless. And as such, it waited for no one. Aran had to use the little time he had to find a shaman. Find a shaman fast.
He stood at the edge of a hill, looking down at a tiny hamlet below him.
'Time ….'