I barely avoid it in time, and as my heart pounds and I stare at the dark tendrils swirling in the atmosphere, I psychically beckon my sword to me. A simple twirl of my wrist, and there it is—my grasp, gleaming, a symbol of all that is right in a world gone wrong. "They've had enough—why don't you kill them instead?!" The smile crept across his face—the fanglike teeth shimmering red in the ghost lights.
The Nobel shook; their skin undulated as a dark, inky liquid swam under their skin, distorting their attributes into a more unnatural version than almost before the reveal. "No... it can't be..." I gasped. "That book is of the underworld. Any human should not possess it!" But I was beyond suppression at this point. I charged, sword raised, slashing down.
It screamed for blood and acknowledgment, and in turn, the shadowy silhouettes of the corrupted things screamed back—no intent on blood but equally bloodthirsty for murder. And then—was it a snarl?—a guttural sound that resonated in my bones. It was larger than me, with beady, greedy eyes beckoning me toward them. It raked me with giant claws—I barely dodged in time. But this was my opportunity.
I plunged the sword into the creature's flank, and I—but he cackled—more insane than his previous hellspawn howls. He reconstituted himself. The dark fog moved both through him and my new entry point, and it felt like ichor and pinpricks, and soon enough, it felt as if my sword was never there at all.
If I didn't—if I didn't take this split-second decision to atone—he's laughing in the face of history and reality. So, I summoned the last physical energy to redirect the spell's light against my blade.
I was frozen—so terrified that my body was moving quicker than my brain could process, and by the time I knew how fucked I was, I'd already swung the blade over my head in an arc, silver glimmering even in the blackness. At that moment, I saw another rise from the depths of the black, hollowed-out bowls, red eyes glistening with hunger.
I connected with a right cross. The sound of cracking bones and caving flesh resounded against my fists while the wet smacks of my punches echoed. But there were no sounds of anguish—only laughter. They were laughing. A raspy, throaty cackle echoed against the walls as one of them rushed at me—its mangled hand dripping with deep black ooze reached for me far too fast for me to defend. There was no time to react, so I channeled my mana into my sword until it buzzed in my grip.
I cut through the air, screaming, as my voice returned to my throat. I chopped off the hand; the blade swung in an arc and plunged into its chest, saturating the granite floor in black sludge.
It screamed—not in pain—but in surprise—as I sent it flying back like a wisp of smoke. But I didn't budge; it was healing—its gross, squelching noises only promoted the restoration of its form. I barely ducked the attack as the ground exploded beneath me.
I had no say in the matter. But with dirt in my mouth, I pushed up from my elbows and tried to stand again. This man wasn't laughing—no, wait—this man was possessed—the whites of his eyes popping out of his skull—and he was so happy to be trying to kill me. Spelling darts skimmed over the tops of my ears. A fireball set my hair ablaze at the nape of my neck.
Ice whizzed past my right cheek like a stinging left hook, and thunder exploded by my left ear so near that I smelled the burnt ozone. "They won't die, no matter what you do!" he screamed. "You hear them?! They won't die! This book is the power of the true God!" But I had to have hope. Out of this chaos, there was a chance—a minuscule one. With the magic flowing through my body, I paid for the source, my sword held above my head.
I spun with the collision of my blade, meeting the energy. It bounced off in a colorful hue along the edge of my steel—the heat. The cold and crackle of lightning—all met my blade and were repelled.
-Boom
-
Julius's blood ran cold. The two miserable beasts cackled with delight, and the filthy man with the book began to chant—low, hoarse, guttural.
A black fog circle emerged beneath the beasts, vibrating and trembling as something poured forth from the center. He felt prickly.
Then, something like a reply to that feeling happened as the circle exploded with light from within. Julius had to leap backward, his eyes slamming shut against the blinding brightness.
But he wasn't out of it; it shone through his lids. His ears buzzed; the air crackled and hummed with erratic energy. But then, suddenly, it was dark.
Julius's hand lowered, palm out, gradually, and he peered into the dust and debris that blocked his view. He exhaled, terrified by what he could see, the two deformed creatures.
It was a creature more significant than a house, almost a giant. Its arms fused at the elbow, its knees fused at a knee, making them one complete protrusion with severed veins oozing from its ashy skin—some deep black—and twitching in a spasmodic fit.
It had four arms and four hands—whose nails could cut a man in half with one swipe. It had four mouths and four eyes, the spheres of each mouth just as hungry as the others. It was a creature with a hole for a face.
"I give you... PERFECTION!" echoed in his victorious, crazy vocal chords. Before the bloody spikes and his horror of a flesh body, arms open as if to give an offering.
-
I'm sick with Influenza A, and I'm stuck in bed.