The Contracted Soul
Page 13
Just as he began to settle down a small plume of black smoke erupted in front of Umbra above the lava flow, quickly growing in size.
Umbra jumped to his feet and backed away from the smoke plume. “Could it be?” Umbra began.
He knew exactly what to expect before it even appeared.
Belphagor! The hulking red demon and holder of contracts was once again before him, arms crossed and steaming sulfurous breath.
“What do you want?! I still have eleven months!” Umbra demanded angrily.
The demon smiled coyly, enraging Umbra further.
“Tell me what you want before I lose my patience!” Umbra threatened, clutching his hand, his scar burning brightly.
“We have plans for you Umbra,” the demon explained ominously.
Umbra had heard enough, he swirled his hand until a black orb formed, and reached back to cast it at the demon.
Undaunted, the demon narrowed his eyes. Umbra howled in pain as his scar ignited. Umbra’s spell dissipated as he dropped to the floor wrenching in agony, stirring up ash as he smothered the flame.
“That scar I gave you is imbued with power,” said the demon, making steps towards Umbra. He hovered above the lava effortlessly, walking until he stood on the burnt shore. He towered over Umbra, his dead eyes piercing the young necromancer’s mind.
“Like I said, you’re around because we have plans for you,” the demon grinned evilly.
He reached his down and grabbed Umbra’s scarred hand. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled Umbra’s nostrils as the demon squeezed, Umbra’s veins blackened, becoming visible all over his body. He struggled in vain to wriggle out of the demon’s grasp. The demon finally released his hand as the veins faded. Umbra’s head ached as his heartbeat pounded in his ears like a drum.
“Your veins flow with the corruption of a demon, I’m just helping you along” Belphagor jested.
“Enjoy your power, I’ll be seeing you soon,” the demon echoed as he vanished. The only remnant of the demon’s presence was a sulfurous stench lingering in the air.
Umbra looked down at his hand, his nails were blackened and sharp and his body surrounded by a faint black aura. The markings had spread across his entire body. Strange purple symbols and swirled burns covered him now. He couldn’t bear to look at them; the deafening beat of his heart rang in his ears.
My veins flow with the corruption of a demon? Am I a . . .? He contemplated.
No! He affirmed. The markings faded once he calmed himself down.
He quietly snuck back to where Marin lay hoping not to wake her. It wouldn’t be long until they had the full cover of night. As he saw the gulley, he froze in horror. She was gone!
He ran over to the small gulley frantically and examined the floor. It was still damp; she had struggled and had been taken off somewhere.
A small red armband lay torn on the floor; it had the emblem of the molten-core bandits. Looking toward their camp by the massive lava-crevasse to the east he knew that’s where he had to go.
I hope Marin is still alive.
He pulled his black robe on and ran towards the glowing crevasse far off.
“Marin, I’m coming!” he yelled.
“I’m finally free!” cheered Robyn. Her smile instantly turned into a searing frown. “I’ll gut that necromancer when I get my hands on him,” she scowled.
She cracked her knuckles and sprinted down the rocky mountain path towards The Lava Fields.
I can’t believe I let that amateur trap me like that!
She hated herself for that single mistake in her battle. Those few moments of broken concentration with Umbra had done her in. She was determined to make him pay.
As she continued running down the mountain trail she reminisced of her past. She remembered the day she decided to become a slayer.
Once again The Capital was burning. All those years back she was only a young girl when the city was under siege by Greed’s army. His legions had breached the walls and poured into the streets, dragging civilians out onto the lanes, butchering them mercilessly.
Greed’s loyalists were there too. One loyalist in particular she remembered clearest. It still boiled her blood when she remembered him. She could never forget such a heartless monster!
The necromancer, Seth! That runt, Umbra’s father!
Her hatred for him was what drove her and it was on that day when her family was taken away from her that she decided to become a slayer.
Her family had hidden away in the cellar under their modest house, tormented by the screams of their friends and neighbors. One of Seth’s monstrous familiars had heard their heavy breathing and torn the cellar doors off their hinges, exposing them to the carnage.
She could only look on in horror as they dragged her parents out onto the street, dropping them at their master’s feet. She saw Seth kill each of them, using his foul magic to absorb their souls.
She had screamed at the top of her lungs when he turned his attention to her, his cold expressionless face still haunted her.
Before Seth could make a move he was intercepted by a swordsman clad in silver armor and a red cape. He too like the hydromancer companion of Umbra bore the symbol of the Golden Sun. The swordsman had jumped into the fray to duel the evil sorcerer.
Robyn fled at that point, tears streaming down her face. She stumbled upon a retreating soldier who dragged her from that nightmarish battle.
Later on she was left at an orphanage, where she stayed until old enough to leave. Once she left the orphanage she was employed as a laborer but was determined that one day she would be the best slayer in the land.
She intended to make Seth pay for his crimes, but for now she could only do the next best thing—punish his son.
Her desire for revenge, and justice burned brighter than the flames of The Capital.
Umbra! He hissed under her breath. I will find you! She promised herself.
THIRTY
“General, we are nearing the edge of the Wetlands,” a troll informed, before falling back to formation in the Troll division.
“Send a goblin forward!” War Chief Groll ordered from atop his snarling hell-steed. “We need to scout ahead.”
A goblin obediently ran to the front of the lines, his loosely fitting iron armor clanked as he ran.
Their straight marching trail through the swamp had left a widened path of destruction, plants were crushed, and trees hacked down. They had torn through, even nearby animals were slaughtered needlessly.
The wildlife of the Wetlands sighed in relief as the battalion neared the exit to their lands. The chirping and other noises of the swamp were hushed and quiet as the interlopers marched onwards.
A single black raven sailed through the humid fog of the canopy and landed on War Chief Groll’s shoulder.
“What is it, messenger?” he inquired as the raven looked at him. The raven shifted on his shoulder and bent over to whisper in his ear.
Perfect! He thought. “We head to Ferus Town on the outskirts immediately!”
“Pick up the pace!” he bellowed.
The skeletons automatically upped their speed, word spread through the ranks and the exhausted warriors struggled to move faster. One of the goblins collapsed in the mucky trail and was ignored by the marching legion until he reached War Chief Groll’s sights.
He eyeballed him sternly. “Get to your feet, peon!” he demanded. The goblin struggled to breathe; sweat ran down his green-tinted body. Struggling to elevate himself he collapsed once more.
War Chief Groll nodded to the nearest troll soldier. Without hesitation the troll smashed the helpless goblin’s skull open with a swing of his immense cudgel.
The march didn’t even react as they left his broken body to rot in the dank, humid wetland trail.
“Who dares?” demanded War Chief Groll from atop his steed.
A large Leshy stepped forward, a hulking figure with skin like bark and a beard of moss. The troops stood still in fear as many more Leshy stepped forward. The battalion was surrounded!
“Conjuror Mathias, our master, demands that you leave this place immediately without resistance!” the first Leshy boomed.
“We are here on command from Lord Greed, and you are in our way!” declared War Chief Groll. The General issued the order for the goblin archers to fire. The trolls and skeletons grinned as they preened their weapons to hack and slash.
The Leshy crowd extended long vines from their hands, impaling many of the swordsmen who rushed them. The goblins lit their arrows and released a volley into the fray. The Leshy who were struck erupted in flame yet continued their attack.
Eventually the enflamed Leshy collapsed into a heaps of charcoal and the rest were hacked down.
“It looks like we have firewood now, boys!” War Chief Groll smirked dismounting his hell-steed to examine their charred remains.
“Hack down the trees, before we leave we’ll torch this dump!” He laughed manically as his horde cheered.
“Allazh, Mallaki, Aruuum,” Magister Lunaris and his sorcerers chanted in harmony.
They were almost drowned out by the crackling flames of Darkwoods Outpost.
Gladius and Fletcher rushed The Wickerman with weapons drawn. He flapped his bat-like wings, lifting himself slightly off the ground and pelting them with a gust of wind.
Leaning into the wind and pacing forwards, the heroes were determined to apprehend this fiend. Before they could get closer The Wickerman lunged through the air with his hand-scythes and chopped Gladius’ sword in two. Gladius face was frozen in shock as he held the stump of a sword.
“The next time it will be your head!” the demonic scarecrow threatened, staring Gladius down with an evil grin.
The Wikerman’s minions were tearing apart the sorcerers one by one; their chant was becoming quieter with each death.
The Wickerman swooped in for the final blow on Gladius. The veteran swordsman swung with a concealed katana, quickly chopping the Wickerman’s arm. It slid straight through, amputating it. Straw fell out of the opening scattering on Gladius.
The straw encircled him like a cyclone. He covered his eyes, coughing wildly. Fletcher grabbed the fallen hand-scythe and dashed towards The Wickerman with it.
The ground suddenly lit up beneath Fletcher’s feet and his quiver radiated purple light.
“Fire an arrow and deal the final blow, Archer!” Magister Lunaris bellowed swatting the zombies off him.
Fletcher whipped out his bow and launched a glowing purple arrow at The Wickerman; the arrow struck the fiend in the forehead erupting with a burst of purple light.
A circle formed around The Wickerman, swirling wildly before erupting in an immense shockwave. The zombies all over town collapsed to the ground, melting like ice in a hearth.
The swirling straw around Gladius dissipated leaving him hunched over and coughing.
The lifeless husk of the demonic fiend lay limp on the spot he had been struck, his wings frozen in stone and ragged clothes crumbling.
“It’s over,” Fletcher sighed as he helped Gladius to his feet.
Gladius looked down at the stump of a sword he held in his off-hand and tossed it to the ground.
“Good job, Fletcher,” he smiled as Magister Lunaris walked over to praise them.
“The least we can do now is to offer our loyalty to the former alliance. We’ll stand by you when you need us,” the Magister promised, bowing in respect.
“There will be a battle soon when we’ll need you, the wizard Astralode will contact you,” Gladius replied with a respectful bow.
“When that day comes I will fight beside you as a brother. We owe our lives to you, heroes,” the Magister nodded. The other dark elves genuflected.
The two victorious heroes handed Magister Lunaris one of the scrying orbs given to them by Astralode to contact him. Calling their horses, they turned west to continue their journey.
THIRTY ONE
Back at the ruins of The Capital, the demon lord Greed sat perched on his usurped throne. He was clad in the late king’s crown jewels. He rolled a diamond-studded gold scepter in his hand being careful not to scratch it with his razor-sharp talons.
His raven scouts had informed him that Micah had changed course and was heading north to the Lust’s temple in The Dying Lands.
He slammed his fist down in frustration. The advisors in the chamber jumped, startled by the immense noise.
“Not to worry, my lord, the boy is taking a small detour, but his goal remains the same,” assured Affluence, the lesser demon and chief advisor.
“What if Lust makes him stronger than Umbra?” Greed inquired, his anger still fuming.
“The contract demon has already awoken much of Umbra’s dark power. He’ll still be stronger, and once Micah dies his soul will be trapped in that sword. Umbra will surely take the sword and we’ll have two souls for the price of one!” Affluence grinned.
“Minion! Go fetch my scrying orb!” Greed demanded. The nearest skeleton soldier standing at his side marched off to get it.
The old stone chamber fell silent once again as a satyr scout emerged from the hallway, sprinting down the red carpet towards Greed.
“A message from Demon Overlord, Wrath!” the satyr announced unrolling a scroll.
Greed was always disgusted by the way Wrath introduced himself in messages. He sighed, sitting back down on his throne, his many jewels jingled as he shifted in his seat.
“Go ahead, messenger!” he ordered. The satyr unrolled the scroll and took a deep breath. Affluence looked intently at him, standing in absolute silence eager to hear the news.
“To my subject, Lord Greed I request an update from Lord Apathy immediately,” the satyr recited. Greed knew that Wrath hated Apathy for his recklessness, refusing to contact him directly. Apathy would go on a killing spree then hibernate for years; he acted too independently for Wrath’s liking.
The satyr bowed and handed the scroll to Affluence, walking over to sit in the pews against the back wall.
“What shall we say, my lord?” Affluence inquired.
“Tell him that Apathy has messed up again and Micah is off course,” he grunted.
He too, hated using Apathy in his plans, he was erratic.
Affluence quickly scribbled the message down on a blank scroll on the map-board table. He handed it to the eager satyr who sped off to The Temple of the Damned to return to his master.
Affluence looked down at the magical map etched in the stone; a red marker indicated any demonic presence. They were using this to follow the movements of Umbra.
“Send a phantom horseman to Lust’s temple and have him ‘lose’ his steed in the battle. We need to hurry Micah along before Umbra’s time runs out,” Affluence affirmed. “It’ll be much harder to retrieve his soul from the underworld than from the Sword of Twilight.”
“Not to worry, once his time expires the soul will be contained within the sword if he has it in his possession,” Greed explained, rolling a gem in his hands before tossing it onto his huge treasure hoard.
“If Umbra arrives here before his time expires, it’ll be to steal the Spear of Destiny and we’ll simply take his soul in our own way,” Greed added.
He knew that he hadn’t been told of the whole plan by Wrath. Wrath never trusted him with all the information, something was always secretive.
/> “You heard our master!” Affluence barked.
One of the advisors sped off down the carpeted chamber. The skeleton soldier returned and handed the scrying orb to Greed.
The advisor descended the winding stone staircase to the torture chamber; burning blue torches lit the advisors path.
The torturer, Malus, a pestilence sorcerer turned away from his labor to address the advisor.
His white skin was withered and wrinkled, his glowing red eyes lit up. He was a shade, an entity created when a sorcerer sells their soul for immortality and gives into their evil urges, becoming a twisted abomination. Anything human in Malus was long gone.
Screams echoed throughout the torture chamber. The old stone walls flickered from the dim torches dotted around the room. Every manner of torture device littered the chamber. It was a morbid shrine of agony.
Iron-shackled victims hung upside-down on the wall, most of them dead. The few living were tattered and brutalized, barely recognizable in their miserable state.
The living victims pleaded to die; their cries were like music to Malus’ ears.
Malus stepped back from the wooden rack where he was flame-branding a dark-haired young woman. Goblins in black hoods were hot-pokering her. She screamed in agony until eventually blacking out.
One of the goblins ran to grab some cold water to wake her up so they could continue.
“What can I do for you?” Malus inquired with a hissing voice.
“Greed ordered we unleash a phantom horseman to hurry the sorcerer, Micah, to Lust’s temple immediately. Be sure it’s a weaker one, and the horse is fast,” the advisor issued.
“You heard the demon!” Malus barked to the nearest goblin. The hooded goblin ran off excitedly to gather the cursed skull reagent.
He returned with a blackened skull and placed it in his master’s hands. Malus clutched the skull tightly; it lit up an eerie blue. Suddenly a black portal opened and a shadowy horseman galloped into view. The rider was devoid of anything above his neck, there was no head on this specter.