Angels and Elves- Act I

by William Collins

  It was an old castle the owner had turned into the hottest nightspot throughout the realm. Damen suspected the owner had hired a few wizards to turn the castle walls purple and convert the vast antechamber into a dance floor.

  Levitating orbs swam in the air, lighting the room garishly and sprinkling glitter as they drifted up high.

  “I didn’t know she was taken.” Damen glanced at the elf girl beside him. “She didn’t mention it. But you shouldn’t blame her. Who would? I’m an exquisitely attractive guy. What was it you said, Cyrin? You liked my smoky grey eyes? Oh, and that you could feel my amazing abs through my shirt?”

  The orc shook with rage, his nostrils flaring and his green flesh growing pale. He’d attack soon, just like Damen hoped.

  Damen had started flirting with Cyrin right at the bar. He’d assumed she belonged to the colossal orc as he’d seen him ordering her about. No one should belong to someone else. Damen would’ve liked to have been the dashing hero, come to save her. But he knew he was no hero, just a small-time criminal.

  “Do you know who I am?” the orc growled. “You are trifling with Orak the Befouled, leader of the Mashgog clan. And that’s my favourite concubine you had your grotesque hands all over.”

  Orak had friends with him too. Four other orcs of various mottled grey and green skin stood behind him. They were smaller than Orak, but just as belligerent and of course, ugly. But Damen wasn’t panicked. He could take them all.

  “I’m grotesque,” Damen chuckled. “Take a peek in a mirror sometime, friend.”

  Orak was heavily scarred and pierced. Gold hoops hung from his ears, eyebrows and nose, whilst his ivory tusks were chipped and stained with filth.

  The orc rested a hand on the hammer at his belt. “Insult me again, human, and I’ll cave that pretty face in.”

  Damen might’ve been the only human in the nightclub. The realm he and Rina currently resided in was a djinn world and the club was full of them, as well as orcs, goblins and all kinds of elves.

  “Aha,” said Damen as he positioned himself behind one of the circular stone tables dotted near the bar. “So you admit I’m handsome? Thanks for the compliment.”

  “That’s it,” Orak growled, prising his hammer free.

  “Please, Orak, don’t” Cyrin pleaded.

  “Shut it, girl. I’ll deal with you later.”

  Damen threw his hands face-up in supplication. “Now, that’s no way to talk to a woman. You should say sorry. Like I said, we just kissed. No hard feelings? She was a great kisser though. Maybe I could get your number, Cyrin, and we can finish what we started, once your brutish boyfriend isn’t around?”

  That was it, the trigger to let all chaos abound, the distraction Damen needed to make. Orak roared and lunged across the table to get him. Damen moved abnormally fast, dodging Orak’s groping hand before stepping back to slap him right across the face. Orak bellowed, causing the music to shut off as everyone in the club turned to the action. Damen leaped back as Orak’s hammer came down, smashing the stone table into shards and splattering trays of food everywhere.

  “Hey, you missed one.” Damen picked up the one peach that hadn’t exploded into mush and threw it at Orak’s head.

  “Glarqing pink skin!” Orak roared, scrambling over the broken table and swinging his hammer wildly.

  Damen ducked two hammer blows that sailed over his head, before unleashing a flurry of body-shots on the orc’s stomach. Orak grunted and fell back, partially winded.

  Damen hastily stole a glance to the side of the vast room, relieved to see Ria slip through the previously guarded side door. She would’ve used her own magic to get in, but recently the clubs on this world had started using those fancy machines that detected whenever magic-users entered their property.

  No worries, Damen just had to go the old-fashioned route and provide the distraction and get the guards away from the door. Ria was skilled enough to get past the detectors. He’d just draw this fight out a while longer so she had time to get her part of the job done.

  Orak charged him like a bull, but Damen rolled over a nearby table, seizing a platter of food as he did so.

  “C’mon, big boy.” He flipped the platter of food into Orak’s face, then picked up a chicken drumstick and threw that too.

  Damen whirled to see Orak’s four underlings converge around him, their own weapons raised.

  “Ah, Ushk.” He sighed, unzipping his jacket and unsheathing his sword. He’d hoped for a fistfight, but things were getting hairy. Quite literally, three out of the four orcs had extensive nose hair; one had even braided his.

  The four grunts all attacked at once, their bulky bodies slamming into each other and slowing them down. One got in a good shot though, his axe swinging straight for Damen’s head.

  Damen got his sword up just in time, deflecting the blade and hurling a solid kick to the orc’s chest, driving him back.

  The club-goers shouted enthusiastically, enjoying the show or else screaming in fear. Damen assumed they all hoped the attractive human boy didn’t get hurt.

  He parried several other attacks and pushed the line of orcs back with expert skill. All those battles he’d fought in as a mercenary had helped a lot.

  Damen was feeling pleased with himself, until he heard the gun click behind him. He turned away from the fallen grunts to find Orak across the room, pointing the gun at Damen’s chest.

  A hush fell across the club at once.

  “Uh—okay, Chief Orc, sir.” Damen held his sword up in surrender. He’d drawn the fight out for long enough. All he had to do now was get out of here alive.

  Orak’s gun looked like a silver pistol, yet Damen could tell it wasn’t a firearm native to this realm. From what he could see it looked like a plasma gun.

  “You’re the stronger warrior,” he said, trying to appeal to orcish nature. “I submit to you. I’ll just be going now.”

  “No,” Orak barked, “now, you die.” His thick green finger snapped on the trigger and the gun jolted back as a plasma bullet exploded toward Damen.

  The blob of crackling energy was inches from his face when Damen’s hand shot up, weaving the air element to bring the bullet to a stand-still.

  Damn, he’d never intended on using his magic tonight. His life as a thief depended on anonymity and once word got round of a blond human teenager who could do magic, he’d have no choice but to leave this world and find another. He’d been doing that all his life already, but he liked it on this realm. He’d even found a nice alien girl he was fond of.

  “You moron,” he yelled at Orak, stunned that the brute had tried to shoot his brains out. He summoned his power and threw the bullet back at him.

  Damen made sure the plasma hit the ground at Orak’s feet, sending him back in an explosion of blue light.

  The spectators were a babble of shock and excitement now. Damen could see the club guards trying to push through the crowd toward him. They wouldn’t be normal guards either. The club owner, and the guy Ria was currently stealing from, was the head of Mygorth’s city mafia.

  “Nothing to see here,” Damen said shakily, backing away.

  Instead, he met a solid wall of muscle and turned to see the four other grunts blocking the way.

  “It’s over,” Damen told them, bringing his sword back up reluctantly.

  For a moment, it looked like they might relent and let him get away unscathed. But then someone in the crowd screamed a warning and Damen snapped his head round just in time to see the dagger.

  Orak had recovered from the plasma blast and pulled out a knife. He’d tried to stab Damen’s throat, but as Damen jerked back, the knife grazed his forehead instead.

  He felt blood leak down to sting his eyes and then stain his shirt. Seeing his own blood awoke the rage within him that he always tried to keep buried inside. Throughout the fight, he’d been full of adrenaline, but never anger.

  Damen knew to always keep control, or else terrible things would happen.

 
He looked on in horror as the dark magic unleashed itself. Tendrils of black smoke unfurled from his fingertips and attached themselves to Orak’s skull. Damen desperately tried to pull the mist back. He knew how dangerous the power was and knew what it would do. He willed the evil sorcery to disappear, trying to manipulate it the same way he could a normal spell. But this was no ordinary magic. It moved with a mind of its own, he’d never been able to control it.

  “No!” Damen cried out when the strength of his thoughts failed. He had to make it go away, before it killed Orak.

  Orak dropped to the floor as soon as the mist touched him. He screamed in utter agony, convulsing violently. Orak foamed at the mouth before falling unconscious, fluid leaking from his ears. Damen could sense the black tendrils yearning to suck out the orc’s soul. A part of him wanted the tendrils to do their job, to punish Orak for attacking him.

  He yelled in fury and fear as he flung his hand out, willing the mist back to him with every fibre of his being. Blood roared in his ears and it felt as if his veins were about to burst from his flesh. Damen forcibly tugged the tendrils away from Orak and up into the air. He thought he heard a moan of disappointment emit from the mist itself as it evaporated, denied its feed.

  He fell to his knees in exhaustion, his body trembling from the effort of keeping his power at bay. Please gods, tell me I didn’t kill him.

  There was a stunned silence in the crowd around him. Then they began to scream, staring at him like he was a monster. Damen guessed he was.

  Everyone was disturbed by what they’d seen; Damen could see it painted in their expressions. But as the crowd screamed the guards moved toward him, drawing their weapons.

  They were Tuatha, one of the worst types of fae. They bore a passing resemblance to dark elves, except their skin was grey and pulled tight on their skeletal bodies. Their flesh was also covered in green whorls, like tattoos, yet Tuatha were born with the markings. Damen doubted they’d merely give him a slap on the wrist and let him go.

  He turned and fled, running past Orak’s four grunts, who shrank away from him in terror.

  “Don’t let him escape,” one Tuatha roared.

  Damen didn’t hear any of the other commands the guards spewed out. He sprinted for the closest exit, running away from what he’d done as much as from them. He exploded through a fire exit and out into the night, greeted by a rush of cold air. The street was near empty outside, holding only a few horse-drawn wagons trundling down the roads with their passengers.

  He hesitated, not knowing how to get to their temporary home from here. He had no time to think, however, as the guards scurried out after him. He picked a left randomly and sprinted into the road, only narrowly avoiding getting run down by a panic-stricken horse.

  Damen ran blindly, diving down the nearest alley he saw, but the Tuatha were hot on his heels, screaming obscenities as they hunted him.

  The alley ended in a stone wall. No escape now. Damen whirled to face them, keeping a white-knuckle grip on his sword. Please, don’t let me kill anyone else.

  The dozen Tuatha gathered around him in a half-circle, their spears pointed his way. Panic engulfed him. He would’ve used magic to cause a distraction and escape, but he had no sorcery left after the immense effort it took to make the black mist disintegrate. He’d have to fight his way through the guards. Damen knew he was good, but not good enough to battle so many when he was already exhausted.

  “Drop it,” one Tuatha bellowed, jabbing his spear inches from Damen’s chest. “Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air!”

  Damen guessed they wouldn’t just put him in prison. On this realm he’d heard they executed any magic-users they caught.

  “Do it now!” another guard roared.

  Damen pulled his sword back, however, filled with remorse. He’d have to cut his way through them.

  Screw it. Maybe Orak deserved to die. What did Damen care? Orak tried to kill him, so he should suffer the consequences. The Tuatha should suffer too if they wanted to corner him like a wild animal. Anger threatened to consume him; he almost wanted the black mist to come back.

  As he prepared to fight, a shape dropped down from above, landing between him and the Tuatha. An explosion of crackling scarlet energy burst from the newcomer, flinging the guards back. The hooded figure turned to face him, her face a mask of rage.

  “Can’t you do anything right?” his sister snarled.

  The Tuatha yelled in confusion and anger. As they stumbled to their feet, Rina was already casting another spell. Her hands gestured smoothly, and Damen felt something in the air.

  “He’s getting away,” one guard cried. “That way.”

  “I see him too,” another said as the guards ran back down the alley and around the corner.

  “Illusion?” Damen asked.

  Ria didn’t answer, punching him on the shoulder instead.

  “Ow, goddamn it,” he said, slumping against the wall. He was drained, physically as well as magically.

  “Fool! I felt you use again. You almost killed someone,” Ria snapped.

  Relief flooded through him. “The orc isn’t dead? I couldn’t tell. I had to get out of there.”

  “Just badly wounded. I ran to the club as soon as I felt you using.”

  “Thank the elven and the orcish gods. I thought…but I stopped it, Ria. I got it under control, sort of.”

  “That’s still bad. I told you to cause a distraction, not almost kill everyone.”

  Damen shrugged. “Heh, the guy tried to shoot me, then stab me in the neck. At least I stopped my evil sorcery from devouring his soul.”

  Ria still had a face like thunder, but it softened slightly as she placed her hand on his brow. He felt the prickling coldness as she used healing magic to seal the wound on his forehead.

  “You’re still a fool,” she said.

  Although they were twins, Damen had always thought of Ria as his big sister. She’d constantly looked after him. Especially as he’d been sickly for most of his childhood.

  It would be obvious to others they were related. They were both tall and slim, but finely muscled, coming from years of living rough and fighting in an array of battles and serving a myriad of masters. Ria had his eyes, a lighter shade of grey perhaps, but still with the same tiny red markings around the iris. She had the same dirty blonde hair, too, yet hers was an unkempt mane, whereas Damen kept his silky smooth. It took a bit of work to look as good as he did.

  Ria didn’t care how she looked. She wore the dullest clothes, brown or black hoods and cloaks, whereas Damen always kept abreast of the latest fashion in whatever realm they resided in. They’d always been on the run, never in one world for long.

  “I told you not to call that part of our magic evil. We don’t know what it is, not for sure.” Ria grinned suddenly, holding up a cloth bag swollen at the seam. “Anyway, we scored big. Sir Dovril had a lot of gold and jewels stashed in his coffers. We’ll be rich, brother. At least until you spend it all.”

  “Me? You do too. At least I don’t always spend my share on rare books and other useless trinkets.”

  “The knowledge I glean from those books has helped me keep you alive, you goof. They’ve also led us to other treasures in strange worlds. You should never underestimate the value of old or rare books.”

  “Whatever, nerd.”

  They laughed, happy at another successful haul.

  “C’mon, let’s go home.”

  “Okay, but we’ll use the roofs to travel,” said Ria. “My illusion spell has probably worn off on those Tuatha by now.”

  *

  The dread lord watched the two thieves as they scrambled up the buildings and away. He couldn’t believe it.

  For nearly a century he’d resided in this realm, fond of the djinn and the fae who inhabited it. He’d flown to this place as fast as he could when he felt the unmistakeable iniquity of demon power being used.

  He knew he was the only demon Dread Lord on this realm. He’d come to
confront whatever rival lord had dared to enter his territory. Instead it had been a human to conjure such power. That was impossible.

  He’d strained his pointed ears as he hid behind his invisibility charm. But yes, he had heard correctly. The girl could perform demon magic too. Oh, what joyous luck.

  He remembered the rumours and stories of the demon Queen Akirandon. Were these two of her children? None had survived, everyone said. And yet these two had to be. Dread Lords were the only beings capable of conjuring such magic and a half human, half demon being shouldn’t be able to exist. Yet the whispers said Akirandon had succeeded in creating some.

  Oh, Disciple Hynd would reward him greatly once he told him he’d located the demon-spawn.

  Chapter 6- The Astral Lady and the Lord of Dreams

  The twin suns gleamed like two bleeding eyes, coating the clouds around them in swirls of pink, ochre and red. The suns appeared so close, Evan felt like he could reach out and touch them if he wanted too. From this high up, late afternoon in Veneseron felt like another world entirely.

  The tawny eagle he controlled flapped its wings steadily, Evan’s mind staring through its eyes in wonder. The feeling of flying, of being weightless in the air, was wonderful.

  Before now in his Astral Embodiment training he’d only projected his consciousness into much easier things. First had been a plant, the safest and easiest for them all to test their astral projections for the first time. Then they’d inhabited squirrels, then foxes and even wolves. So far, a wolf had been Evan’s favourite animal, aside from the overpowering urge he’d had to cock his leg and urinate on every tree he’d passed. Today had been their first day astral projecting into a bird, and the experience may have just eclipsed the wolf.

  If he looked down he could just spot the tiny figures of the Mistress Fyrell and a few others in his class. Fyrell had told them to explore today, and so Evan had free reign to fly further afield. He left the trees of the vast forest behind, soaring toward the magical city in the valley below the Fortress.

  Astral magic might’ve been the weirdest brand of sorcery he’d experienced yet. If he thought to swerve to the right, the eagle did, if he wanted to go higher, the bird flapped its wings. He was thrilled and scared at the same time. The wind ruffling his feathers was the weirdest sensation, especially as his human body had never had any feather.