Maal The First Skull- Shadows of the Mind

by Theodore Packwood

The embryotic oil that had fallen upon them as the boils burst did not drip to the ground; it slid around their bodies and solidified into onyx plates until they were covered from head to toe in black armor. The plates stacked upon each other as they locked into place, creating four layers of protection, as with the creature that I had recently destroyed. Their armor did not appear to be cumbersome; they stepped nimbly back and forth in restless anticipation, waiting for the oil to shape into weapons.

  On one arm, a long plate stretched along the forearm to create a wide shield. The squat shields barely covered the chest when brought to the fore, but reached well past the elbow to allow some protection to the rear if swung in an arc. In the other hand grew needle-like blades, too thin to be useful as a sword, but excellent at puncturing armor—or my skin.

  They seemed eager for violence. Would they insist upon my death, or were they driven only by rage? I will not admit they terrified me.

  “What drives them to such vehemence?” I demanded, addressing the voices. Before any of them could respond, the creatures charged. They leapt upwards, their armored feet finding ledges of broken body parts from which to launch even higher. In moments, they were halfway up the hill, hundreds of screeching, Hateful creatures.

  Yes! Here they come, Maal. Time for slaughter! said Viridian.

  I slammed the axe into the bodies at my feet, hoping to use it as a crutch. It sliced through the corpses too easily; I was forced to stand on my own. I had planted a foot inside the pool when suddenly I was unable to move. Something terrible pulled at my will, siphoning the fight out of me. The more effort I summoned, the greater the drain. My limbs would not move! I could not even lift the axe in my defense!

  “I will not run,” I whimpered. A hollow courage; I could not move, regardless. Tears flowed as my body protested the decision.

  I could only watch in horror as the horde of dark-armored creatures surged upward. Their needles came toward me, promising great pain. They scrambled over each other, rolling up the hill like a tidal wave of black death.

  A scream strangled in my throat as I lost control.

  You said you would not scream, taunted Carmine.

  Agony lit up all across my body as they stabbed, too many spikes of pain. I could not make sense of where I hurt, because the pain was everywhere. Those who could not reach me with their needles fought mindlessly for a chance to inflict harm. They shoved and jostled and trampled each other as they sought any space from which they could stab me.

  The first creature to reach me had been knocked down as he attacked, and its needle stuck in my shoulder. Its torso covered my shoulders and head as it was pushed down atop me. It was the only reason I was still alive. Those able to wound me did so with fervor. Their thrusts pierced a leg bone, tore into my groin, and pinned the hand holding the axe. A sound came out of my throat, but it was full of such awful suffering that it could not have been me.

  The onslaught was too much. I felt the pull of the ocean of insanity; a sanctuary from the horror. I cackled maniacally as the ocean began to drag me down.

  The creature protecting my head pressed its left gauntlet onto my forehead and heaved upward, creating a small gap. Through its fingers I watched as it yanked out its needle.

  It leaned in and screeched, spraying spittle into my eyes. Its needle went up, pointing at my face.

  I screamed something at it, but I do not know what it was.

  It hauled back and rammed its fist into my mouth, bursting my cheeks open, shattering teeth, snapping my jaw, and piercing the back of my neck. Its fist dissolved inside my mouth, turning into a sour, rotten liquid. I choked and gagged, but it continued to pour, burning the back of my throat. Its arm began to dissolve as well, turning into the oily liquid it had been fashioned with.

  I am drowning! It was my last thought as death seemed imminent.

  There was a bright flash across the sky. The creatures paused to look up. A golden light hovered there, growing and growing in brightness until they were all forced to raise their shields against it.

  The light lanced through the mist like a spear, disintegrating the creature above me and slamming into my chest. The blast engulfed me in white flame, burning and burning. The pain felt like incineration, and a pathetic noise gurgled in my throat.

  Images and knowledge poured into my head, too fast for me to comprehend. My mind turned dizzy and pain spiked behind my eyes. The mental annihilation was as horrible as the physical had been. I needed some sort of expulsion desperately; my stomach heaved with urgent vomit.

  The light was relentless. It poured into me until I was certain I would die from agony or from an overload of knowledge, and far beyond that. I could not even form a thought as my consciousness was eclipsed by its demand.

  A tremendous BOOM shook the ground, as if a thunderclap went off right behind my head. It was followed by a jarring CRACK. Something beneath my body shifted. The light faded and faded, leaving me blind. My ears rang and my skull felt too small, as if the brain inside were swollen.

  As my sight returned, I realized the creatures had been flattened into hillsides near and far. They moved slowly, trying to disentangle themselves from corpse parts.

  I got up. No, I jumped up! I was bursting with energy; I wanted to run and run as fast as I could. As I put myself into motion, the first step was almost death. A deep crack in the ground had appeared at my feet. It was wide enough to prevent jumping across, and I could not see the bottom. Hills of dead bodies slumped into it, body parts roiling over the edges with muffled thumps as they slid into the depths.

  The crack zigzagged to the Nail and pierced it. A huge chunk of the tower teetered away from the main structure, leaning almost to the point of falling over. Most of The Nail still stood, though I could not see the detail of its interior.

  Stranger still, the light that had nearly destroyed me now stopped mid-air, terminating into an oval that was like a rip in the air. The oval provided a vision of a dark room, yet there was faint, white glow illuminating a body, lying upon a thick stone slab that glowed with green runes.

  Around me, the creatures were recuperating. Some of them were already sprinting.

  It was not a decision at all: I leapt through the window.

  M A A L

  I found myself in a small, triangular corner. It smelled old, as if the air itself was ancient. It was cold here, and dim. I could not discern my own hands among the shadows, yet I suffered little pain. My mouth might be ruined; I could not tell. The wicked spikes behind the eyes had paled to a dull throb.

  They are coming to get you, Maal! cried Tawny, but she giggled afterward.

  I spun. There was nothing but inky blackness in that direction, yet the strange window hovered in the air here as well, with the environment of The Nail visible through it. Creatures appeared at the window, and I meant to scrabble backward, though I traveled little distance. It seemed they could not see the window: they milled about, searching for me. One of them walked straight toward the window, but he disappeared as he passed through it.

  My relief was immediate and overwhelming. Dry tears and pathetic, gasping sounds were my celebration. They were not tears of my bidding; I had little control over the demands of my pathetic body. My tears would have been those of rage: rage at my impotence, my inability to overcome the foul creatures that beset me. When my body had purged itself of weakness, I stood and turned. Doing so was more difficult than I expected.

  This was just a fragment of a room. A pair of walls created the corner, and there was a floor, all made of some strange, black material. Large, red runes had been embedded or carved into the surfaces, glowing dimly. They filled me with dread, which did not lessen as I looked away, but the rest of the room was gone. The ceiling, and the entire space beyond this small area, were nothing but a foreboding blackness. I dared not go that way.

  “What kind of place is this? Where a void awaits everywhere but this one small corner?”

  Perhaps you are inside the monument, said Cerule
an.

  Tucked into the corner lay a large stone slab. It was massive: as tall as my waist, as deep as my arms stretched out, and wide enough to bear the corpse with room to spare. Other runes had been carved into the sides of it, similar in style to the ones on the wall, but these were bright green, and as tall as my forearm. As I studied them, I became exhausted and could not look away. My thoughts became sluggish and I could not summon the effort to move.

  I can not say how long I stared, unmoving. Unthinking.

  The slab’s runes emanated a green light that seemed to spill into the air and evaporate. No, the runes were fading, growing dimmer as I watched. In moments, their odd color vanished, leaving no trace behind on the smooth stone. I felt better instantly, and was able to examine the slab without penalty.

  Upon the slab lay a desiccated body, its leathery skin sucked tight to its bones. The skull was closest to the corner, its skeletal mouth grimacing, accompanied by a barren nose and eyes of dust. Bumps could be seen, running along the outside if its arms—protrusions that looked as if they had once been something more. An expanse of dried, dull hair laid beneath the vacant ribcage, stretching from skull to heel. Possibly it had been male, but its groin displayed no genitals.

  Let us investigate! demanded an excited Tawny.

  Curiosity grabbed and pulled me forward. There was an open gash where the cock should have been.

  I frowned, uncomfortable at the correlation.

  Between the slab and the far wall, an enormous axe had been jammed into the floor. I almost did not perceive it because the double-bearded blade was all black; only the very edge of it could be seen in the pale white glow, just visible above the top of the slab. The victim had long ago managed to rip its left hand partially free, just enough to touch the handle of the tremendous weapon. In all ways, it appeared identical to the axe I had used in battle near The Nail.

  I thought I had dropped the axe, or it had been pulled away by the creatures. “How did it come to be here?”

  Pick it up, Maal, said Viridian. Perhaps you could cut off something else! He cackled.

  Chains as thick as the corpse's legs still bound the body to the slab, shiny and unmarred by time. Four large black nails had been hammered through links of the chain to pierce the body's wrists and ankles, puncturing the stone of the slab to prevent movement of limbs. A fifth nail pierced straight through the center of the skull.

  A large crack cut through the length of the slab. Tiny bits of dust were falling into it, as if the slab had recently been broken. The crack passed beneath the body's head, right through... the nail.

  I recoiled. “Whose body is this?”

  You already know, said Cerulean.

  No. Something was wrong. This is wrong, so wrong my mind could not admit it. I turned away before the implication ruined me.

  There was a faint light near the foot of the slab. A beacon of pure white light, painful to my eyes, growing larger as it passed behind me to terminate in the shape of the window to The Nail. I looked for the source of the pale glow, and discovered it in a small, round stone embedded in the wall.

  As I approached the stone, its light felt more potent, even though it grew no brighter. The power emanating from it scorched my skin, but I could not quell my curiosity.

  I reached out to touch it, and there was a bright flash.

  M

  I

  Muffled sounds echoed strangely, and I could smell smoke.

  The center of my view was dark and devoid of detail. Dim red light clouded the edges of my vision, but the silhouette it fashioned was incomprehensible.

  “Where have I been transported to now?”

  A few blinks and even a squeeze of the eyelids produced no sensation and no change of vision. Attempts to cover my face were baffling, as I could not see my hands. They provided only a vague sensation, as if partially connected… or partially severed. Prior trauma inflicted by The Nail’s creatures came to the fore, bringing Fear.

  Have you been dismembered? asked Tawny, giggling. Cruel words, fueling the Fear. I flailed with my legs, trying for some purchase that was not there. I could not move!

  I panicked, lashing out with everything, and my view shifted. The dark area filling my vision receded, came into focus.

  It was a blackened fist, burnt to char by some vicious fire. Bloody pus oozed out of knuckles where the char had cracked, where peeled-up skin curled into sharp edges of ruined flesh.

  The fist pushed rhythmically on a wood surface. Tiny tendrils of black smoke trickled out from where it scraped against the wood. I could smell the vile fumes, like hot tar.

  “Ruh! Ruh! Ruh!” loud voices exclaimed, chanting in time with the sound of pounding fists, and shaking wood. The voices were close, very close, but the fist filled my vision. I could not see who was grunting.

  I made an attempt to step backward, but my legs only swung back and forth, as if I were floating. I flailed again, swinging arms I could not see.

  “What is wrong with my body?”

  Looking down, there was little to see. In the dim light, my figure was invisible. No curve of my naked figure caught the red light, no motion I made became apparent. A wave of arms across my face yielded no corresponding visual. Wait: I could see them, but they were mere shadows, so faint they were almost imperceptible. They passed right through the wood surface, and through each other!

  “What has happened to me?”

  I shoved outward in every direction, attempting to create motion, and my view altered. There was a sensation I latched onto, like pushing off an invisible wall. With six more attempts to re-create it, I retreated an arm-length.

  The wood surface became the uneven top of a crude table. Simple wood mugs and bowls were riddled with chips and cracks, and littered the surface. As the table shook, portions of stew wiggled inside the bowls, and a dark, frothy liquid sloshed in the cups.

  The room was shadowy, but nearby fires crackled, providing the light which tinted red the edges of every shape. I pushed again, moved farther backward, and found a view I could at last comprehend. I was ill prepared for what I saw.

  Bent over the table was a naked, young woman. Her hips were pinned to its edge on my left, her back was forced into a severe curve by a thick, white-furred arm. She struggled against it, pushing off the table with her charred right hand. Her unblemished left hand pulled in vain on a crude metal collar around her neck, restricted by a taut, overhead chain. The collar strangled her, turning her face purple. She sucked in quick gulps of air between thrusts, but each breath was rammed out of her with a small squeak as she was raped.

  "St... st... op,” she tried to say.

  She had suffered previously. Cruel fists had left dark bruises on her thin frame: a swollen, black eye; a pair of large, fist-shaped blots on her midsection; long scrapes of fingernails on her arms. Starvation had drained fat and fluid from her, leaving behind prominent ribs and bony limbs. Her long, dirty hair fell down the sides of her neck in knots and tangles. Its natural yellow took on a red hue in the firelight as it wafted to and fro, sliding against her nearly flat breasts. The bowls and mugs on the table beneath her made tiny hops, dancing demoniacally to her distress.

  What a delightful introduction, said Magenta, with her sultry, purring voice.

  "Good task, Dur! Good task!” one creature shouted, large lips flapping back to grin at the rapist with blunted yellow teeth.

  The seven beasts at the table urged the rapist on with gusto, beating the table-top with abnormally long arms. Dense, white fur covered their bodies, a fuzzy softness that contradicted their wicked behavior. The white coloration was sliced with irregular stripes of light and dark gray, and tinted crimson by the firelight. Dark, beady eyes watched the girl from beneath the overhangs of their deep brows and above wide, flat noses. Broad feet dangled above the floor, a mop of fur hiding the rough, ruddy skin on their soles. They wore no clothing, though some bore leather shoulder straps with skulls tied to them.

  “Goor. That is wh
at they are called.” The name accompanied no further knowledge, only brief images of ferocity and brutality, and an emotional memory: a deep, terrible Fear that was not my own. I was not afraid, though I felt it all the same. The strange memory was not easy to suppress, and I baffled at its origin.

  I was quickly distracted by her severe torment, her jiggling body. I was fascinated by the display and became perversely excited.

  A sudden thrust of emotion struck me, like a stab to the gut. Shame poured in, so potent I bent over, gasping. The influx smothered my arousal and usurped my feelings. There was a bizarre directionality to it, as if the emotion originated from outside my useless form. I could sense it came from the girl, but could not understand how this was possible.

  There was no resisting it. My emotions were obliterated, leaving me with only horror at the sight of the girl’s victimization. I could not feel her physical pain—the constriction upon her throat by the collar, the pressure on her back from Dur’s arm, the insidious thrust of Dur’s cock—all were absent. Her emotional suffering ruined my pleasure, and my concentration.

  I tried to slap the Shame away. Slap Dur. Slap the girl. My hands passed through everything! Feeble attempts to intervene, to stop, stop…

  “Stop,” she begged, a whisper unheard among the noise.

  ...stop this torrent of Shame!

  “Desist!” I yelled, desperate. Dur rammed her roughly, and his fellows cheered.

  I pushed away to distance myself, but my retreat was slow despite my frantic shoving, and the flood of emotion did not lessen. The Shame poured out of her and into me, and I was helpless to stop it.

  “What must I do to sever this horrid connection?” I cried.

  Kill her! Kill her to stop the pain, Maal! said Viridian.

  I struggled against the onslaught of Shame. I was being victimized without being the victim. The girl’s suffering became my suffering, and despite the lack of physical invasion, the emotional counterpart was apocalyptic. I wanted to weep, to die, to end myself; anything, anything to halt the influx. Physical pain would have been more tolerable, far more preferable to this! I clawed at my empty chest with empty hands, certain I would have ripped open a hole in a futile attempt to get at the awful emotion if I had had a physical form. Some pathetic wail escaped me, a purely involuntary reaction.