《Short Stories》 Devotion It clattered across the floor, yammering closer until a hefty kick sent it crashing into the far wall. A grimace crossed his face, features twisting as he examined the still twitching skull. "I hate those things," he muttered, disgust scrawled across his face like the work of a particularly deranged stonemason. "Don''t understand how anyone can stand them." He stomped towards the remains, casting angry glances at me. Why he would blame me, I don''t know - he had insisted we investigate this room. Cobwebs festooned the ceiling, walls and most of the empty space as well, testament to the age and status of the crypt. Quite how spiders always manage to create such vast empires with such a seemingly scarce food supply never ceases to amaze me, as you''d think a spider wouldn''t be able to create such a lavish tapestry to collect food without a ready and substantial source of sustenance. Maybe the spiders work together, forming trade agreements and - The sound of splintering bone broke the air of the chamber, the grinding of plate boots onto stone scraping me from my thoughts. My charming companion continued to obliterate the shards left by the skeleton, intent on erasing any sign of its existence beyond a powder smeared on the floor. I grimaced at his back, weary of his abrasive nature, yet again wishing he wasn''t necessary. Four weeks to reach this dump, cold and damp worsening the expedition beyond normal. Four weeks of ill-tempered grunts and growls. However, the rewards for patience were almost at hand, hidden from the world for an age but soon to be in reach. All that was needed was to bring this lout to the deepest chamber. A few skeletons had blocked our way so far, petty creations half corroded by time and embalmed by their passage through the corridors to reach us. Tunnels of torn webs showed the way forward, matching exactly with the research I had conducted. "Come on, we can''t waste time. We''ve got to keep moving," I reminded him, eyeing him as I waved my torch towards the door. "Or we''ll end up trapped with these monsters." "Abominations!" He spat, whirling round to glare at me again. Blue eyes shone with fanatic zeal as he stomped past me. "Monsters can be trained. Abominations can only be crushed." Neutrality had served me well so far, and I endured another storm of abuse as his tirade began to echo down the halls, touching on the subjects of evil, good, abominations, and their cause. I followed his broad frame as he stalked along, maintaining my disposition as his raged beyond control. His enthusiasm had surprised me at first. I had merely assumed that he was a soldier of fortune, handily fallen into monster-hunting as a reliable trade. It had, of course, become apparent it was a calling for him - he viewed himself as a bastion of purity - cleansing the evil from the world - and apart from his manners, it was true. My normal acquaintances were of a more dubious quality, taking the stance that philosophy played no part in life, only in decadence. I am, naturally, paraphrasing. I doubt half of them know the word philosophy, let alone the meaning. As we descended into the lower depths of the ruin, his roar reduced, becoming once again a grumble, and then a tight-lipped grimace. The walls were now looming in, a primeval tunnel hacked into the bedrock of the earth. Cobwebs became rare - as thought the spiders themselves were scared to venture into this dead space. As we crept forward ever slower, a sense of doom began to coil through the air, cold snakes wrapping past us. I saw him shudder, momentarily caught off guard by the oppressive atmosphere. I resisted a smirk as I cowered behind him. He had been right earlier - what was contained here was abominable - and he wasn''t prepared for it. "Foulness," his mutter drifted back to me, shaking a little, "can''t... won''t let this be." "Ye-yes," I stammered back to him with a more pronounced quaver, "it has to be... "gulp" confronted."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. He glanced back at me, the disdain and dislike tempered by a smattering of respect at my unexpected courage. His beard twitched slightly, as a tremor of fear swept across his face, before settling into its customary grimace. A brief nod, then we continued on, footsteps puncturing the silence. I rolled my eyes at the idiot. Soon, he would have his chance. Our torches cast flickering shadows across the bare walls, bone-dry phantasms chasing and fleeing us. The effect was eerie and encouraging, for though we ventured into near-forgotten secrets, those secrets were also swallowing us without a trace. One secret I had uncovered gave the reason and need for my ''escort''. It had taken time, not to mention effort, to put the pieces together but I had, and my success revealed the key to this place. My key finally edged into a large cavern, circular and lined with empty alcoves. The floor was carved with conical patterns, leading to a central dais engraved with shimmering metal. The design seemed alive, catching the eye and leading it along it endlessly. I shook my head, and watched as my companion shambled forward, entranced as if by a siren. His jaw was slack, gaze unfocused. I slipped along behind him, quietly retrieving the torch he had dropped. He stopped just short of the heart of the room, moments away from fufilling my purpose. I waited, trembling with the excitement built up through years of hard work and longing. His doom and my ascendance were just an instant away. With a glazed look, he drew his dagger, absently turning it as he stared mesmerised. I leaned forward, eager to see the culmination of the last ten years. A spray of blood, then a gushing torrent as it was ripped from his body. He shook, his eyes wildly darting, the spell broken at last. I ignored his agony, focused on the rapidly forming waterfall of crimson congealing in front of him. A face formed in the wild stream, disappearing a moment later as other limbs materialised and melted. His body dropped to the floor, dessicated, devoid of the vitality that had sustained him. Instead a figure was slowly creating itself from the maelstrom formed of his essence. A hand thrust foward, drops of scarlet cascading off and whirling back to the main body. Another arm, then legs, each diminishing the total left and any excess returning. Soon enough all of it was consumed and a full creature stood upon the dais. I knelt, eyes locked on it as wine-red robes became apparent and flesh began to form. Bone white hands lifted as onyx eyes shot open, transfixing me. Cascades of ebony hair ripped from the crown of its head, rippling silkily down its back. I whimpered, as unprepared for its beauty as he had been for his fate. A dark chuckle broke from its grey lips, giving a glimpse of pearlescent teeth, and filling the room with a dreadful symphony, echoes rebounding and building. I shook, unable to look away or even move, caught as surely as a hanging man. Silver gleamed upon its elegant fingers as it reached toward me, held by deviously deep eyes. I rose with its hand, captivated and trapped. My mind buckled under its gaze, crumbling before the intense scrutiny, leaking my thoughts without any hope of survival. *** When I came to later, the cold floor was digging into my back. I was alone. The torch had long since gone out, now cold to the touch. I glanced around the room, noting the dullness of the dais, devoid of its earlier allure. I stopped on the sight of him - shrunken and leathery. He had a gaping hole in his chest, his heart ripped out so brutally it had excavated his entire torso. His eyes were even more like sapphires, cold as the grave and twice as grim. They stared at me as I edged closer, hesitant to do what I longed to do. I felt changed - the dark seemed little barrier to me, and an even colder detachment than normal enveloped me. I could sense the power in this place more clearly, even with the absence of it, and its terrible glory. More importantly at this moment, I could feel him circling, impotent and ethereal, railing at me for my betrayal. I reached for him, instinctively extending my grip through the material and latching onto his soul. He squirmed, terror and loathing at the invasion consuming him as I thrust him towards the corpse. He screamed then, a pitch beyond my physical hearing, yet resonating through the cavern. The body buckled, stretched and convulsed. I drowned his horror with my will, cementing his servitude and suffering in implacable certainty. The body stilled. I stepped back, examining my first true working. This went beyond the pitiful experiments I had attempted before, vermin and bugs, barely managing to complete the process and losing control within moments. This was what I had desired and hoped for. True necromancy. My first skeleton stood before me, hate and unending despair subjugated by obedience to me. His soul screamed relentlessly, total abhorence of his state consuming him. I smiled. It was a start. Mindful The ground trembled. A slight rustle whispered through the debris of the forest. The dead trees looming around the clearing stood silent, decaying watchguards of the grove. Fallen leaves lay dormant, awaiting a breath of wind to resume their mimicry of life. Another rumble, another shake rippled through the ground. Like a snake, holding still only to suddenly pounce and fling itself into action, the clearing once more fell into stillness. The overcast skies reflected the dead forest, gray and unchanging. A figure sat like a wooden carving in the centre of the empty glade, eyes closed and breath shallow. The slight movement of the chest was the only obvious sign it was still alive. It twitched, and the floor of the forest seemed to shake in sympathy, like a sleeping giant waking to find itself smothered and buried. The folds of its robes lay flat, undisturbed by even a trace presence of air. Suddenly, it''s eyes shot open, fixed on an intangible point. The focus was as intense as a waterfall, relentless and powerful. Swirls of green raced through the eyes, curling and disappearing like smoke. The ground rippled once more, then again, building in intensity as the figure sat trembling. With an abrupt heave, it fell still. The eyes shone despite the grey gloom of the forest, the flashing emerald solidifying to a constant hue. A creeping sussuration filled the air, accompaning slithering green worms slowly thrusting through the carpet of brown leaves. An implacable march had begun, new shoots of plants emerging undeterred by the ruin they found themselves in. An expanding circle of life spread from the now standing person. Arms upreached like a messianic statue, it reached higher, gracefully ushering the growth out of the dead forest.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Now lost behind new trees it strained upwards, mirroring the infusion of life to the old forest. The fervent stare crescendoed as the figure hit the limits of their body. In a final burst of noise, the new life in the forest rushed up, leaves unfurling with desperate haste, flowers blooming as though years had rushed in the the space of minutes. The figure fell to its knees. Trembling arms held it off the now grassy ground, eyes flickering still with the verdent engery that filled the forest. Satisfaction warred with exhaustion on its face as it gazed around the clearing. Despite the uncooperative weather, the forest was vibrant, leaves filling the air and flowers carpeting the ground with glorious colour. It was not complete, lacking the animal life that usually fills and sustains nature, but it now held the potential it hadn''t before the figure had worked its magic. With a heave, the bundled figure rose from the ground and stood. Gnarled hands brushed dirt from robes. A grey beard quivered from weariness as the figure began to walk. Its work was done, damage repaired, and the next stop was far away. As it struggled through the underbrush it patted trees, enervation retreating as energy began to coalesce once more within it. Vines creeped out to momentarily embrace them, returning to dormancy as it moved further away. Soon it was able to stride in a deceptively fast manner, restored to vitality. Flight A million flickers, shooting, sparking. The sounds of the universe collapsing and expanding. Heartbeats languorous and slowly thudding to an eternal tune, just beyond the edges of perception. Entropy rising as the eon progresses. He shuddered, breath steaming into the chilled air. Eyes rolled, spasmodically cataloging and referencing without understanding. Arms outstreched strained themselves to the edge of breaking, reaching for intangible flows. Muscles shivered with effort, pushed to mortal limits. The horizon of power grew nearer, a deceptive tide swarming with unrelenting urgency. A wall of storm in his mind eye, a meteor of monumental proportions flaking under his desires. The centuries piled up and fled as he enacted his subtle sorcery. With a final surging whirl his will coalesced into coporeal form, the climax as ever too swift and brutal. He closed his eyes, fingers flexing with sudden freedom. A gusty sigh was forced out, satisfaction merged with regret at the loss of titanic immensity he had experienced. When he opened his eyes again he saw it. The culmination of his efforts, the result of intense study and practice. Years spent with a singular determination, his dedication invigorated by success. As always, the same storm of emotions drowned him upon regarding his achievement. The tunnel bore was smooth, slight tracings of a spiral etched in the curved walls and ceiling. Sound rushed in as he examined his work, the efficient bustle of work and slight slither of magic easing him back to reality. He pulled from his copious sleeve the scroll of parchment, unfurling it to study the design. He had measured his manipulations with standard precision, matching the precribed depth and length for this section of tunnel. Looking back with a quick glance he took note of the handful of workers clearing behind him, shoveling loose dirt and debris into small carts to be ferried out of the growing system. Years of experience allowed him to accurately assess the current progress, his expertise judging the efforts of fellow mages as they too expanded tunnels into the underground network. Soon the brute work would be done, and they would move onto finer tunnels, snaking up and around to various locations above them. His eyes caught on one of the younger mages, still novice enough to allow energy leakage. The younger girl''s hair whipped through the air, unearthly wind billowing loosely around her. Other professionals cut disapproving stares at her mentor, an elderly mage more interested in looking busy than directing her. He shook his head, shamed that this was the standard he now worked alongside. Straightening, he curled the scroll up and tucked it back into place in his sleeve. Disrupting the young mage now would be inadvisable, potentially shattering her attention and releasing a modicum of the chaos she tried to harness. As it was, he knew that a more experienced colleague would more than likely have to refine her work, easing away the roughness and weakness that would be left through her inexperience. Professional pride had its drawbacks, but he would be damned before he left any potential instability in this system. A good network could function for centuries, allowing the city above to function more efficiently, not to mention more cleanly. If tunnels were poorly made there would be a risk of collapse, blockages and sinkholes. Heaving a sigh, this time filled more with resignation than success, he headed towards her mentor.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Werot was a fine mage, despite his current laxity. Whoever had assigned him to the girl had made a mistake though, as one of his inevitable failings was a reluctance to involve himself with others. As such, he had most likely brushed off concerns regarding the neophyte and just given her a list of work to do. Understandable, but such an approach just created more work. Standing just below average, Darsel still held himself proudly, his robes relatively clean despite his line of work. He was a well regarded mage, old enough to have accumulated respect for his work and consistency. Confronting Werot would just make the older man stubborn, so instead he approached him casually, greeting him with a genail nod. "It''s all going well, don''t you think?" he asked, glancing around the central hub from which the spokes of tunnels branched out of. Not really large enough to be cavernous, it was still large enough for the few tables and chairs that had been brought down. Resting mages sat and ate, replenishing lost energy. Werot glanced up from the bundle of scrolls he was perusing, a slight squint pinching his face from the strain of reading in low light. His face softened in recognition, before his customary scowl fell back into place. "Hmph, as it should be, Darsel, as it should be," he replied tersely,"not nearly enough challenge to this kind of... dumb labour." Darsel nodded sympathetically, scratching his chin. "True, the later work should be more engaging, once we start connecting up to the streets. A bit more flair needed for that kind of intricacy." As he spoke he let his eyes wander, before resting them on the young mage still carving away at a tunnel. Her hair had now streamed out behind her, the wind blowing more consistently in response to her final focus. Werot grunted, following Darsel''s attention and spotting his unwanted protog¨¨. His scowl deepened with displeasure, which only increased as he took notice of the covert glances of his colleagues. A low grumble eased out of him, annoyance at his burden obvious to everyone around him. Darsel chuckled softly, shooting him an apologetic look when he glared at him. "Sorry, sorry - it''s just that you know what you have to do. Stop being such a grumble bones and at least get her out of here." Werot sighed, his defences dropping in the face of the easy charisma. "I know... I just wanted five minutes without prattling so I could actually focus on something." "It''s been five hours!" Darsel exclaimed, earning him a guilty expression from Werot. Older he may be, but in some ways his wisdom certainly didn''t reflect it. He grumbled again, reluctantly tying his bundle of scrolls up and stashing them in his sleeve. Easing himself up from the table, he groaned as his legs ached. Stiff from inactivity, he hobbled away from the table, slowly making his way towards his student. Darsel sat in the now vacant spot, a contemplative look on his face. He would have to talk to the Initiate in charge of training. A mismatched pair could stunt the potential of a student, their growth stymied by a lack of care and opportunity. Werot was too set in his ways, and required prodding to step up to this new task. It would be easier and better if Darsel just cut the man out. Mentally mourning his soon to be lost time, Darsel stood and stretched. As Werot began harranguing the novice for her sloppy work, Darsel turned back to his work. He had more to do still before he could return to the surface, so the poor gril would just have to suffer for a bit longer. Stepping up to a slight alcove, he once more opened himself to the cosmos. Vortex The wind brushed around me, pushing and pulling me towards the inevitable before me. A sickening lurch filled me as I stared down. The lights shone bright, mere pinpricks combining into an elaborate tapestry. Cold seeped into my clothes, my jacket flapping and tie whipping around. My shoes stuttered on the cold ledge, entirely unsuited for such a situation. The sounds of good cheer behind me were like a dagger in my head, stabbing me at my very heart. A particular voice rang out, and the dagger twisted. How long had it been like this? Light shone up at me, illuminating me against the backdrop of the night sky. A clear moon was visible, its luminesence battling the aggressive glow of the cityscape. I stood staring, the lead weight in my gut the anithesis of everything I saw. There was nothing left. A bottle slipped from my fingers, its contents long since gone. It fell in a entrancing spin, end over end, for what seemed an age. Then it hit the distant floor. A faint tinkle, a smattering of glass. The shards glittered up at me, calling me with a pretty sparkle. How easy it would be, how easy to take that step over. Just one motion, a final motion. A slow fall, the adrenaline amplifying everything. How would it feel - would the rush of the wind drown all else out, or would everything become enhanced? Would I tumble, or instead fall straight? And then the end. What impact would happen? An instant could become an eternity - everything coalescing to a single moment of clarity and life. Or would it be intense panic - the realisation of an irrevocable choice? My fingers clenched, fist forming of their own volition. I looked up, breaking my gaze into the abyss. It didn''t matter. Like every other time I had been like this, I knew nothing would change. It would be the same as always. No new propulsion put me here. The laughter and cheer echoing out to me jarred me from my staring. A brief glance back, reassuring myself that I was still alone. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. As I knew myself, so did I know the others. Were any to see me, standing on the ledge of the balcony, I knew what their reactions would be. Concern and comfort would be rushed out, smothering and patronising when all I craved was a release. The chains that bound me were the very things they would produce. I breathed out, steam leaking out to mingle into the sky. There was nothing to do. The thought of continuing either direction repulsed me, and attracted me. I stood torn, my inner turmoil freezing me at the edge. I studied the city once more, hoping and dreading that I might see some kind of sign. An intake of breath behind me startled me. "J-jake? What are you doing?" He said to me, eyes wide with incomprehension. I stared at him, half-turned to face him, balancing with a little effort on the stone banister. My mind raced, struggling to decide on words, as I watched his face go through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Eventually it settled on fear - fear for me, and slightly of me. "Why don''t you... why don''t you come inside and have a drink? W-we can talk if you want - or not! If you don''t want to..." He said, voice stumbling and trailing off as he stared at me in horrified worry. Some sick emotion grew in me. That he should find me, of all people, he should find me in such a situation. The sign, dreaded and longed for, had arrived. I turned to face him fully, a smile slowly growing on my face. He too began to smile, worry slowly morphing into something like relief, that what he had seen had not been what he feared. His face froze with my words. "Eric. Sorry." I saw his hand reach out, then he was gone, replaced by the suppressed night sky. With cold detachment I looked at the stars visible, impossibly small and bright, impossibly immobile. They remained, fixed and constant, as the building swiftly grew by my feet. The sensation of looseness filled me, my body dedicated to a force greater than I could resist. The inevitable rushed to me, black fluttering the edges of my sight as I was pulled down. Intense pain shot through me for a second, then nothing. Oblivion consumed me, and I knew nothing. Later I was told I''d been lucky. A fall like that should''ve killed me. Futility He laughed, sonorously and richly, like dark chocolate slowly pouring the air. His eyes crinkled with delight as he looked upon the scene before him. Little had moved him for so long, the release was almost orgasmic in intensity and sheer elation. They had tried everything so far, from moon-smithed steel to incantations derived from the scribblings of half-mad prophets. Every slash, every stab, every hell-borne arrow sped with the fury of a demon had simply trickled off him, no mark left beyond the growing acrid cloud that only he could smell. Their bitter cries of frustration sang to his ears as he stood and laughed. Ocasionally, overcome with hilarity, he would bend to clutch his knees, and their attempts would pause. The uncertainty only made the subsequent resuscitation of their effort all the more funny. "Why... won''t... you... die!" Yelled a particularly irate knight, his armour slowing his movements as he swung for the umpteenth time, only for his mace to yet again find nothing to embed itself in. "You''re worse than a troll!" "At least they feel the pain." Snarled a companion cleric, his comment oddly juxtaposed with his once white robes of the Calm God. The robes had since become overwhelmed with sweat, proof of his continuous channeling of divine power. Briefly, the man paused his chortles, considering the chances of them finding any weakness to exploit before the cleric literally exploded with those forces. A tingle caused him to begin giggling again, the lightning summoned crackling through the burnt finery he had wornt. Each attempt of the wizard had varied. He had summoned blades of wind, vines of grass to bind and enervate, lashes of fire to scourge, and eruptions of earth to smother. All had increased the hilarity - the desperation on each face as previously ultimate attacks had served to only muffle briefly the peals of laughter. "Drown it again, Xeforh," grumbled another knight, this one standing back from the fight, leaning on his shield as he tried to recover from the hours-long endeavour they had started, "at least that shut it up."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "I can''t." Grunted the wizard. His grey eyes were bloodshot, the formerly clear whites now a crazed maze of red interspersed with islands of pinkish white. His hands trembled as he drew on the last dregs of his power. "I need time to -" "We should retreat," came a voice from the man''s left, "while we have strength to get back to the fortress. Then we can come back with a full battalion at our command." He looked over, through eyes crammed with tears of laughter to observe the grizzled leather-clad woman. Thus far he had ignored her - fewer attacks had come from that entertainer, and he had assumed she was merely a guide, or inexperienced. Closer inspection revealed insignia, hidden behind the tightly tucked cloak. So an officer. One who had thus far been content to assess and judge her subordinates success. "We can take it, Captain," the third knight began, his sword steadily swinging, "we just need -" "I think not." The words shook the air. The trees around the clearing bowed out from the figure, before swinging back with elastic force. The six figures surronding him froze in the shock of the speech, held still by the sheer reality-breaking madness contained. A flury of pine needles cascaded over their frozen forms, the trees denuded of their covering for a good distance around the clearing. He sighed, frustrated at his lack of control. They had been good entertainment, varied and inspired in their avenues of attack. Had he been more restrained, perhaps they could have been broken to his service. For not the first time he regretted the path before him. True power would always hound him - rendering even the strongest gale a mere whisper, the harshest blow a slight tickle. Shaking his head, he attempted to straighten his clothing, brushing ineffectually at the burnt and charred fabric. The sight might have been comical, but for the still and silent forms around him, a silent statuary that could only have been created by the most talented of sculptors. Each was cast in the last instance of life - fear, and dawning horror etched on every last face. It was so lifelike, you could swear the eyes followed you. He strode out of the glade, casually walking around the destruction as though on a mere pleasure walk. He had a fortress to visit, after all. Unfortunately, they wouldn''t be expecting him, just yet. Pursuit Eyes bright in the darkness, sweat beading on his brow. The bush he hid in whispered to him as he held his breath. A rustle in the distance, the silence of the forest making the smallest disturbance as loud as church bells. Another sound off to the left, the circling of his pursuers shooting icy bolts down his spine. Fever fire gleamed from his eyes as he tried to maintain his stillness. The feeling of blood oozing from cracked scabs tugged incessantly on his focus, the sludgy trickle of pus leaking on his leg. A short while had elapsed since he''d made his escape, treading as lightly, yet swiftly, as he could in this state. The wooden palisade nearly spelling his death as he scaled it with clumsy remmants of his normal grace. He''d only had brief moments of relief, before the hue and cry of startled watchmen awoke this chase. At least he''d had the foresight to remove their main trackers - with what meager poisons he could scrounge he''d left the hounds in a cripplingly debilitating condition. No need to hide his scent for this run. He shifted slightly, grimacing as he felt yet more blood and pus from the aggravated wound. Typical that the one time he tried to help someone he paid for it. They hadn''t even gotten away, hit by a second volley just as they neared the edge of the wall, pierced straight through with a couple of quarrels. Their body had hung there nailed to the wooden surface, twitching as the last life fled from the mangled mess. The sound of boots coming behind him had sounded like the tread of the reaper, coming to finally send him on as he stared at the transfixed corpse. His shock as, instead of the summary execution he expected, he was instead roughly grabbed and hauled to a cell. The agony as a sawbones came to remove the quarrel from his leg, carelessly cauterising the wound, providing just enough attention to ensure he''d be alive for what would follow. Shuddering, he brought his attention back to the present. From the sounds he could hear, even through the haze and heat of infection, it appeared that he had been lucky. The guards chasing had missed him, sprawled under a large shrub and hastily covered with leaves. He picked out brief snatches of yelling, their meaning seemingly swimming through his mind like a swarm of minnows. Maybe he''d go do some fishing once this was all done - fishing was a nice quiet activity, guarranteed to end, if not well, then at least peacefully. He shook his head. Focus! He had no time to lose himself to delusions. He flipped himself - - The daylight woke him. A brief urge to flounder nearly overwhelmed his senses, before his years of training took over. First he stopped breathing. Then a wracking cough erupted from his lungs. As he spluttered out the contents of his chest fragments of memory arose. There rose an image of a man, strong and lean, his muscles moving mesmerisingly under taut leather as he rapidly scaled the wall before him. Then, a long corridor, the memory rising of extreme tension as he crept after the same man, his partner, down a winding corridor.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. This shattered into another moment - the alarm raising as they fled back down the same corridor, now later, the sun just beginning to stab through the deep windows to glint off the armoured guards behind him. He drew ragged breaths at the memory, the fear once more raising from his fevered memories. He shifted onto his back, carefully this time, making sure he didn''t jar his festering leg again. He slowly drew air, steadying himself, listening for the sounds he dreaded. He was no longer sure how long he''d been here. They''d arrived just before the moon had risen, it''s slim crescent providing barely any light - the kind of moon they used to pray for. They''d been ever-so-careful in their approach, checking the rotation and patrol of the guards with the information they''d bought. It should''ve been so simple - a crumbling mansion in the midst of an overgrown forest, barely any guards to protect the remaining riches of a once-great house. Barely any guards. There''d been enough. He winced, thinking of the last time he''d seen his partner for the last seven years. Seven years of good luck, or at least mediocre, before this travesty. The way his blood had pumped, then oozed. Even as he''d been hauled away, he couldn''t stop looking. He shook his head to clear it, sending the world into a kaleidoscope of colours as his eyes struggled to process past his current infection. He fell back, sweat beading on his brow as he once more faded to - - *Slap* He jerked up, restrained by unrelenting pressure on his wrists. It bit in as he struggled, uncaring for his effort, each thrust or pull generating a cascade of heavy jingles. The sound tugged at his ears, a memory trying to break through the shock of rapid awakening. His strained to see, but his eyes were so gummed he could barely make out the bear of a man in front of him. "Reckon he''s awake now, milord." The guttural rumble came from the man mountain, a human paw coming to rest once more on his face. He trembled, fever-strength denied to him. "Good, good. It does bore me so terribly when they''re all quiet and docile." The sneering voice came from further back, a voice refined to be wielded like knife in the dark on those who crossed its owner. He sagged in defeat. That voice, what he now recognised as chains and his treatment thus far - it all spelt one thing. "So this is the... daring... thief who thought he could take the last vestiges of my families wealth?" The voice came closer, the owner still shrouded behind a veil of blurs and unfocused lines. "Well. We can''t allow that to stand. I do have to maintain the standards of my forebears, even in these... trying times." A hand, finer but still calloused, swatted away the man-paw holding his face still. It tugged his head back and forth, firmly ignoring the kittens strength it faced. "Not a bad specimen, Mortains, though you will of course need to clean it before I add it to my collection." "Yes, milord, once it''s off we''ll have it sparked and shined for you." The rumble chased shivers of foreboding down his spine. He remembered now. The hallway they''d come across. Most fine houses had some eccentric display to invite conversation, some exotic tat stolen from natives or traded from shady dealers. The collection he''d seen had been far ahead of those. Ebb Sweat swung, thrown in slick arcs through the humidity to splatter across the beaten earth. The circle of dancers continued their frenetic gyrations, stamping with all their force round the centre of their ultimate focus. Each was a prized member of the cult, raised and trained through years of service and dedication. Each was expendable in the grand scheme - a temporal asset worthing nothing but the effort wrung from their flexible and agile forms. She looked on with excitement, the frantic rhythm creating a near physical sense of crescendo. Decades had been spent, potentially wasted, to bring the confluence of power they were now bringing to bear. Spirits hitherto unbound were being summoned, and once brought, chained to the great purpose. Never in the history of all shamanic effort had such a effulgence of power been attempted, the influence being wielded like a palpable tug on the souls of all present. Even the natural laws were bent around it, sweat beading off the swirling figures and flying through the air in arcs unbound by gravity. The earthen floor displayed the chaotic splashes, a strange order drawing the eye of the untrained sacrifices huddled against the full length of their chains. A motion of her hand, and another was brought forth, expertly weaved between the intent wheeling figures and thrust to the epicentre of spirits. A brief scream began, cut short by the shredding and grinding each spirit, made manifest, engendered on the unfortunate. Blood blossomed in the air. It bloomed for brief seconds, arching up and over, before rapidly condensing back. The vortex sucked it in, squirling it down the the growing orb of darkness at the focus of the ritual. It was this that had created the need for such a scene - only the work of nearly a dozen puissant practitioners of spirit-calling could have effected the convergence of of so many spirits. The condensed energy had literally ripped them from the ether. Each railed against the circle, seeking to break free from between the enforcing forms. Rage and despair filled the minds of beings which were previously oblvious to such concepts, their only outlet the destruction wrought on those who broke through the loop that bound them. She gazed onwards, ensconsed securely on her throne. It reared above her, craved through the effort of only the most careful crafters among her captives. Her beady eyes peered through the thick thatch of her once-white hair, clear and quick to observe any minor flaws. This would be her crowning triumph of the century, restoring youth and vitality to her now withered and corrupted form. She had personally overseen the upbringing and education of those before her. Twenty years before, when she still had the strength of limb, she had led the dance, marshalling the spirits to obey and, through example, teaching. Ten years ago, she had stood to direct, her movements graceful enough to call power to discipline clumsy efforts and encourage correct form. Five years prior, her voice, hoarse as a crow, had yet retained force to cajol obedience. Now, failing and crumbling, her unquestioned authority was all that held her coven together.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. It was with such thoughts that she observed the pounding feet, the flowing arms and spectral suction. It was with her memories and hope of glory that she saw the figure. It was separate, unknown, unrestricted in motion and ordered in chaotic methodology. It was alien to her own creed. She glared, bringing the force of will to her eyes that she struggled to maintain. Years had robbed her of all but moral authority, secluded from all but her trusted followers. The figure was as impervious as lava, deceptively quick, as with a swiftly slow sway it interspersed itself between two of her most accomplished acolytes. She watched with growing horror as it weaved it''s own brand of movement with that she had refined since she first realised the decay of her mortal vessel. The heresy spread, like a ripple racing along a stretch of water, first the leader, then the next, and the next, until at last it hit the outsider. With a final flourish, the form sunk and knelt, a dead stop, catastrophic in all magic surrounding the movement of life. All the following forms copied, trained from birth to obey the pattern. WIth the sound of shattering nails, the orb halted, no longer expanding. It seemed to quiver, whilst remaining entirely still. An abrupt flury of the figure, anithetical to the prior direction started them all again, a cadence of power trickling once again. However, this time it grated, no longer smoothly accumulating and condensing the encircling spirits, but riling and aggravating them. She shook, a cripple laden with furs to stave off the ever-present chill she felt. Twenty years ago, she could have hounded the interloper within seconds to a gruesome mis-step. Ten years ago, a mere wave would have caused a stumble to an early death. Five years, a discordant whisper should have disrupted the entire proceedure, losing the entire troupe,but sparing her at least. Now, bed-ridden and helpless, she could only look on as the power was perverted, it''s original restorative properties bound to utter and unrelenting torment. A crescendo, a flutter of movement from the corrupted dancers, and it began. The orb, held still by the opposing directions, now erupted, a stream of energy and life streaming through the air to the foci of its conception - herself. She shuddered as her body regrew, life reurning to the crooked limbs and gnarled extremities. She wept as it overgrew, tumours sprouting from the ends of her fingers, merging where they met and putrefying as the burst against her enclosing furs. Her mind, last and least important aspect of the ritual, remained clear. She was still herself as she saw the figure draw near. It was a young girl, hair matted and dark with dirt, face stained and scarred with the touch of an uncaring world. The girl drew nearer, her face slack with lack of focus. Her sharp eyes picked out the girl''s. They were blank, rolled up to the top of her eyes. A medium. She''d been beaten by a medium. She, who had once been the greatest of the shaman, had led the Natural Dance for decades, before her body failed, had been ruined by a mere slip of a girl who didn''t even have the strength of will to retain her own mind while channeling the spirits. She tried to curse the girl, but only managed unintelligible spluttering as her throat closed with flesh. Her last coherent image, before her eyes burst was of the white film clearing from the gaze of the girl. And the utter horror the innocent eyes reflected.