Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

  Erline exits the dome, running her hand through her long white hair. With little effort, she conjures her winds, leaving in a swirl of visible airstreams, and disappearing from the realm.

  “Is it done?” I ask, hesitant to know the answer. Erline isn’t happy with her choice, choosing to leave instead of converse, choosing to flee and lick her wounded pride.

  “Yes,” Erma answers, grasping a stray red hair stuck between her lips and pulling it behind her ear. Her delicately carved brows furrow. “Why are you standing like that?”

  I turn back to face forward, to Nally, preparing to bid farewell and perhaps console the stocky paranoid creature, but the dwarf is gone.

  Standing up from my bent position, I sigh and face Erma. “We should go,” I demand, walking to her. The information I’ve learned this day will have to be evaluated before I share.

  Questions still hover on the edge of her lips, but she chooses not to voice them, gripping my upper arm with cold fingers instead. A yellow portal appears in front of us, swirling and beckoning us to enter. I look to Erma, her troubling thoughts visible on the surface. She ignores my gaze, leading us with a determined march, and we enter together.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AIDEN VANDER

  DEMON REALM

  Hobbling through a dark hallway, the walls lined with black wallpaper with red swirling designs, the demon halts and turns to large double doors. They reach the high ceiling, consisting of heavy dark wood, intricately carved. They still smell freshly crafted.

  He looks back at me for a moment, his eyes speculating as he weighs an internal struggle. A sliver of fear curls from his body, tendrils of smoke which remind me of a place I struggle to recall when the opportunity of a meal is presented before me. I wonder: Is it me he fears? Can I bend his will so easily?

  My lips tilt in a smug smirk while I hold his stare, my gaze unwavering, a challenge that begs for a victor.

  Blinking hard, he reaches out an arm, grasps the brass knob, and twists his wrist. The latch unlocks, and the hinges creak as one large door swings open. Glowing, yellow light spills from the room onto the hallway floor, and I wait, expecting the demon to make a move, to give me a reason.

  Impatient under the watch of a predator, he thrusts his arm out, pointing inside the room, and his voice shakes. “I haven’t got all day, Thrice Born. Enter.” I watch his skin flap against his arm and lift my eyes to him.

  I could feed from him. I could consume his terror, taking it for my own. It would be easy, satisfying, a drop of heaven in a place of hell. It would end him. I could end him. That thought alone sends a shiver up my spine, and I lick my bottom lip, ravenous.

  The tendrils of his smoky fear increase, traveling to me like an obedient dog who wishes to only please his master. It wakes something in me, something I knew was there, lurking within, waiting for a moment in time.

  My muscles tense, and my smile widens, pulling at the skin along my chin. The dark hallway brightens as my eyes smolder inside their sockets, hot yet soothing. It’s right. This is right. This is me. This is who I am. Embrace it.

  His breaths are heavier, and his nostrils flare to allow quick passage. A tightness in his chest threatens to consume him, just to feed me, just to give me what I desire, bowing his torso forward - a puppet string attached to his ribcage. I own his terror. It’s mine for the taking, mine to consume, mine to possess.

  I dip my chin, allowing this inner darkness, my inner demon to take what belongs to me.

  His hands shake at his sides, and his one eye widens when he realizes what I’m doing. I’m commanding his body, pulling his emotions as though they never belonged to him in the first place. I could kill him. I could call for all his fear and know it will obey, destroying the host just to please. He would be gone, and I would be more.

  He quivers, slightly, enough that it’s hardly noticeable, but my sharp gaze takes it in. “Don’t let it rule you, demon. Consuming your brethren be a slippery slope. You be meant for bigger things than destruction for which there be no return.” My eyes narrow, and he stutters out his next words, short of hysterical. “He would not be pleased if you killed me.”

  I huff, a small chuckle tickling my throat. He begs. He begs and expects me to heed his request. He doesn’t move an inch as I stride past him, shaking my head and entering the room. The door closes with a soft click behind me, and to my surprise, the demon didn’t enter with me. His mismatched footsteps resound outside the solid door as he shuffles away, taking my meal with him.

  I glance around, muscles rigid for the loss of sustenance. The flow of a lava fireplace obscures the sounds of my breaths which quiver with adrenaline – a high of sorts. I force myself to remain rooted, to not hunt down the demon and finish my meal.

  Focus, I growl to myself.

  No one is in here but me, and I take the opportunity, the distraction, to get to know the fee who created me before he arrives.

  “Knowledge is power,” I mumble, desperate to convince myself.

  The walls are painted black, and the ceiling is high. Shelves of old books with worn spines and artifacts from ancient periods are littered throughout, disproportionate and misplaced. It’s not a large room, but it’s filled with furniture from an era I know nothing about.

  A large bed is sits my right, and a canopy of deep red netting surrounds it. It falls past the mattress, waving in a nonexistent breeze. To my left, two red couches with high, curved backs face each other, and a large pool of black oil is puddled on the ground between them.

  The puddle is what catches my eye, diverting me from inspecting the belongings within this room. Curious, I slip over to the couch and sit, my weight sinking me into the plush cushion. I lean forward in my seated position, my chest touching my thighs, and stick my finger out, submerging it in the puddle. My skin coats in black oil, and I pull it back, rubbing my thumb against it, eyeing it with suspicion. I look to the ceiling, curious as to how this puddle got here.

  “There is no leak,” a voice exclaims, loud in this quiet room. “The Oleum has been there since the beginning of time.”

  Unhurried, I stand and spin toward the voice. Behind the couch, a tall, lanky man leans against a bookshelf, his arms crossed. Light brown hair is disheveled atop his head, and I imagine women would find it charming. Black, wise eyes stare back at me, and carved, sculpted lips tilt in a smile.

  “Oleum?” I ask.

  He unfolds his arms and walks to the other couch, sitting down and swinging out his arm, inviting me to do the same. “Almost the same consistency as oil,” he begins. “Oleum is anything but.” He inclines his head, nodding to the double doors. “Did you not wonder what fell from the ceiling?”

  I look at the Oleum then to my fingers. The oil is gone, absorbed in my skin. Oleum is what was raining in the common area, feeding the demons a snack as they passed through. “I see.”

  He lounges back into the couch and points at the puddle. “This is my personal Oleum. I do not share well, and this Oleum does not hold the same purpose as it does in the common areas.”

  “You’re Corbin,” I realize.

  He inclines his head, tucking his chin into his collar bone. “Thrice Born,” he greets. The way he speaks to me, it’s adoring, like a child who’s come home after a long absence.

  I slouch and position my elbows against my knees, prepared to take full advantage of this weakness. “What does it do?”

  “I’ll show you.” He holds up a finger and bends forward enough so that his face reflects within the black puddle. Moments tick by, and nothing happens. I frown and lean closer in hopes of a better view. Maybe I’m missing something.

  He holds up a hand once more, halting me from hovering over top. “Don’t taint it with your reflection. It must sense my own desires.”

  As my back rests against the couch, the oil begins to ripple and then bubble. It doesn’t make a sound, and my lips part in anticipation.

  Slowly, an oval emerges from the oil – a head – constructed
by the slippery black liquid, and then a neck, and then two shoulders. A person – I realize – as soon as the full figure forms in front of us. It moves, lifting a slender arm and grabbing something that isn’t there. I stand from the couch and lumber around to the other, wonder driving my anticipation.

  “A woman?” I ask, recognizing the feminine features. “Who?”

  He reclines back in his chair, and the springs squeak as he watches the oil woman continue her invisible task. “Katriane Dupont. My wife, and my relation, though I’m not sure if she’s aware of the first.”

  “The dragon?” I ask, remembering what the Pyren said about a contract.

  He tips his head, studying me over his shoulder. “How did you –” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “The Pyrens.”

  I slide my hands down my thighs, nodding once, encouraging him to continue. “Oleum shows you what you want to see most? Like a magic mirror?”

  Twitching his eyebrows, he scratches the side of his jaw. “That and more. It allows me to possess my enemies while they remain unaware.”

  “How?” I tilt my head.

  The woman is doing something, but I can’t tell what. Her fingers flex, grasp, and release. How am I to know the purpose of her actions if I can’t see her surroundings?

  Corbin stands, adjusts his pants, and takes a small stride toward the woman. With a careful hand, he grips her chin and turns her face to him. Oil coats his thumb and knuckles, dribbling down his wrist. The woman freezes like she’s having a thought or lost in a daydream. Corbin lowers himself, bending his knees and bowing forward, inching to her, nose to nose. The oil where her temples are ripples, and black tendrils, like fingers, wiggle their way out. They float between them before the oil settles on his forehead like a leech. It disappears, absorbing into his skin, and he inhales a deep breath, his eyelids fluttering.

  Releasing the woman, she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and returns to whatever task she was doing. Corbin turns to me, a smile on his face. “Understand?”

  I sigh, annoyed. “No.”

  He runs a hand through his hair. “I haven’t had a new demon in a while,” he mumbles. “Her thoughts, her most prominent thoughts, were shifted from her head to mine. To her, she lost herself in a day dream. She isn’t aware her mind was tapped.”

  My forehead wrinkles, but the rest of my face remains impassive. “I see. Kheelan can read minds, but he can only read them if he’s in the same vicinity. Whereas you can conjure any person and pull from them at will.”

  A wicked smile lights his black eyes with a mischievous glint. “I supply Kheelan with Oleum. He consumes it. If he does not drink it a few times a day, he cannot tell the thoughts within someone else’s mind.”

  Shaking my head, I chuckle with no humor. Before, when I was human, even when I was floating in the void, I deemed Kheelan a powerful being. So powerful that I was an insignificant bug, splattered on his windshield. There was no hope of revenge for me, and now . . . now I couldn’t care less about the revenge I wanted to deliver. Here I am, in the presence of a fee who dwarfs Kheelan in every aspect, and it bores me. I want to feed. I want to consume. I wonder . . . What would happen if I consumed a fee? Are they capable of feeling fear?

  A question crosses my mind. “And how does Kheelan create life?”

  Corbin leaves the pit, walking over to a hip-height side table. With his desires absent to the puddle and his reflection gone, the oil woman melts back into the body of liquid as a rain of droplets.

  He picks up a crystal vase and a matching cup, pouring a liquid inside, scented in a familiar aroma - the bitter bite of Brandy. I eye the glass, and he silently gestures with his finger, asking if I care for some. I shake my head.

  “I’ve always been partial to the earth realm’s luxuries.” He takes a sip, sighing with content. “Kheelan creates life by tying his own to them. If one were to die, it wouldn’t affect him much. If they were to all die at once, it would greatly weaken him. If they try to leave, he could force their return.” He shrugs. “Or take back the heart he gave them. Whichever he chooses.”

  “Is that why he doesn’t have many humans walking his realm?”

  “Such a curious mind for a demon. There’s only one reason a demon voices questions: he thirsts for power.” He tilts his head. “Do you thirst for power, Thrice Born?” We hold each other’s gaze, but I keep my ground. I’m not afraid of him, and I’m unwilling to provide a window into my query. He grimaces while taking another sip before answering my question, “It is. Too much vulnerability is never a good thing when you have many rivals.”

  “You don’t care for Kheelan,” I state the obvious.

  Pursing his lips, he narrows his eyes. “No. He’s weak and egotistical. He has no idea how insignificant he is compared to the rest of us. Sureen and he have this in common. They’ve tied themselves to something that’s easily destroyable,” he reveals, placing the glass back down on the small table. “Sureen to her dome. Kheelan to the living.”

  “Oh?” I cross my arms. “And the others?”

  Corbin twitches his eyebrows. “Erline is tied to the humans, and Erma, the fool that she is, tied herself to Erline. Without their ties, they’re nothing.”

  “And you? What did you tie yourself to?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says, a chuckle to his tone. He dips his chin, looking at me through his eyelashes. “Kheelan plans to enter a few humanoids into an arena of sorts. He isn’t aware what this will cost him, but he enjoys believing he’s King.”

  “An arena?”

  He shimmies nearer slyly, and he whispers, “Have you ever heard of a colosseum?”

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  EARTH REALM

  The water droplets trickle down my bare back. My hands support me, placed inches below the shower head, my fingers splayed against the tiled wall. I let the water wash my troubles away, the heat diffusing the bubbling anger still inside me. Music plays in the background – soft violins and accented cellos.

  I know without a doubt, and by experience, the fee always require payment for favors. Sureen pulled me out of the past, out of the dream and back into my sleeping body, per request. What did they have to give her in return? I wasn’t going to wait around and find out.

  My body aches with tireless opinions, a migraine threatening to wake. These are theories based on pure speculation, and I’m desperately trying to drown in music. It’s not working.

  Corbin’s smirk invades the back of my eyelids. Seeing that grin tips me to the side of consuming paranoia; what does he want from me? I remember the mischief and charming demeanor which had rolled from him in waves. It was nearly impossible not to be affected. What he has planned in that mind of his, I should probably find out.

  This is all too much – the fee pulling at me from all sides, Myla’s death, the odd shifting of the Realms. I am to blame. I am the common factor. And I hate myself for the guilt.

  I sigh, water dropping from my parted lips. Am I going through the stages of grief?

  Scrubbing my face with my hand, I open my eyes. Corbin’s smile dissipates as I watch the water drip from my chin in flowing waterfalls, splattering against the porcelain tub. Arching my back, I hold my breath and stretch my neck.

  A moment ago, I stared at myself in the mirror as I gathered my toiletries. My mind couldn’t focus, day dreams interrupting the troubling thoughts I should be compartmentalizing. I look as though I’ve aged ten years.

  As I gazed within the mirror, tears streaming down my burning cheeks, I touched the wetness with my fingertips, bringing tears to the rest of my wounds. The bruises and the remainder of the cuts healed. The power coursing inside me has woken. It’s like a drug – addicting and begging for more. I can feel it traveling through me, adding a renewed life. It’d be exhilarating if I were into that kind of thing. I want to be normal. This has never been what I wanted, and yet, I now have it.

  This consequence won’t be my last I’m sure. I’m a magnet for trouble.
<
br />   The music changes songs, breaking me from my trance. I shut off the water, pull the curtain back, and step from the tub. My wet legs drip on my plush purple rug.

  Grasping a towel from the hook and patting my face dry, I sigh into it. The smell of the sweet fabric softener calms me while water creates its own path down each slope of my exhausted body.

  I groan when I come to the conclusion that I’ve painted a target on my back. When I took action, when I let my dragon half loose and handled them as if they were nothing but paper, I became something they should fear. The image replays in my head, their bodies flying through the air, the thud as they hit the dome wall, ending with Corbin’s smile. Always Corbin’s smile. It was the smile of evolutionary plans. What is it that ties me to him?

  He fed from them, drinking in their fear and accelerating his powers. It was almost too obvious what he was doing, but he managed it with subtlety. It’s a careful plan – to keep his magic hidden. What is this man capable of?

  I’m not entirely sure of the logistics of creating a demon or how it’s even done, but I suppose I don’t want to know. I’m sure it takes some measure of extreme magic to do so. There are many breeds of demon, after all. Most of which I’m sure I only have basic knowledge.

  Wrapping the towel around my torso, I reach and open the door to the bathroom, halting in my tracks. Tember rests against the door frame of my bedroom, adjacent to the bathroom. Concern wrinkles her perfect eyebrows.

  “Get out,” I demand, pointing to the wall as if my finger could poke through and hit the entrance door to my apartment.

  Pushing from the door frame, she crosses her arms, uncomfortable with my festering hostility. She quirks an eyebrow. “We need to talk.”

  “No. No we don’t.” I push past her and enter my bedroom, dropping my towel. She’s already seen me naked, twice. Why care about modesty now? “I’ve seen enough. I’ve been through enough to fully understand what you did and how you did it.”