Rift

by D. Fischer

  The knife drops from her hand, and she falls to her knees, fingers clutching her neck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  The dusty dirt snakes around shuffling feet fighting for the upper hand. Enemy angels continue to pour from the Angel’s Ground entrances and absent roof. Off in the trees, a blizzard has picked up, and beyond that, a vicious storm is visible, wreaking havoc over the Kaju tribe territory. But here, where the angel’s call home, moans, grunts, and yells echo in the clearing as each creation of Erma’s fights to kill the other.

  We’re overrun. We’re outnumbered. I’ve greatly underestimated this outcome.

  Stationed next to the Grounds, my small team is behind Jaemes and me, including Erma who Jaemes’ brothers circle to protect. They wait for my command to slip inside while hidden behind a white pillar on the outside of the structure. We watch the scene unfold, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Our dwindling warriors battle with cries of victory and wails of frustration.

  With much effort, we have fought our way to the Grounds. It is prudent to have as many of the enemies out of our home for Fate’s plan to succeed. We need to get in and even the odds, but the fight to get here has been difficult. Black blood layers along my skin, smearing the paint, and my hair sticks to my forehead and cheeks.

  To take back our floating castle, we must seal the gates from any who try to reenter. But nothing is going according to plan. From where I stand, we’re losing. Our warriors are falling quickly, crumpling to the grass and dropping from the sky like comets. We can’t enter if we lose. We can’t leave everyone to die if my team can make a difference out here.

  The zaps and jolts of bolts charge the air, and the bellows of the oxtra herd vibrate my bones while they continue their rampage in utter chaos. The oxtra cannot fly, however, and their numbers are being picked off due to that single flaw in their makeup as a team of enemy angels kill them from above. Oxtra may be strong and tough-skinned, but they cannot handle several rounds of electricity at once. And because of that, their numbers are dwindling at an alarming rate.

  “This was not a good plan!” Jaemes yells above the noise. “My people are dying!”

  I ignore him, my huffs of breath matching the tune of beating wings and pounding hooves. The clash of weapons better suits my frantic heart throbbing against pulsing veins in my wrist.

  “We should retreat while we can,” he continues, slamming his fist against the pillar to grab my attention. A chunk breaks away and tumbles to my feet.

  I curl my fingers, and my face darkens. “No,” I say, firm. I choose to place my trust in Fate. “We’ve come this far. We can’t turn back, not when we are almost inside.”

  Beginning with Kai, Jaemes’ brothers eye each other and begin speaking rapidly in their own tongue. His expression is grave yet murderous as though I’ve become his next target, friendship be damned.

  “If you do not pull our people back,” Jaemes warns with clenched teeth. “If we do not retreat to safety, all will be lost. With no guardian left to fight for it, this realm will be destroyed.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but snap my jaw shut when a shadow overcasts the lands. I lift my head to the sky, and a deafening roar rebounds inside the clouds, followed by the sherbet smear of orange brightening them. I cover my ears as it echoes in the clearing, and the matua’s screech their cry.

  “Kat,” I stammer, my voice tinged with a grateful whoosh of air. Jaemes follows my line of sight, and his braided hair swings from one shoulder to the other.

  The black sky and numerous twinkling stars are visible when she cuts through the clouds, leaving an opening in her wake which quickly swirls closed. The fire follows her entrance, hurtling closely behind her as though her talons grab the flames. Her black dragon comes into view, her wings tucked while she dives, and the scales gleam their impenetrable armor.

  Another roar quakes the land, and as she passes over our heads, her belly is alight with an inferno within. Heat wafts from her, but she continues on her flight without pause or recognition, swooping past the Angel’s Ground.

  A stream of flames leaves her muzzle, engulfing angels midflight in scorching heat so bright it snuffs the hues of electric arrows arching into the air. Her chest puffs again, and she exhales, aiming and slaughtering the enemies in the sky with a moving torrent of fire.

  Immediately following, a howl erupts inside the forest, then a chorus of them, until the sound almost replaces the war happening before me.

  “Wolves,” Jaemes calls over the chaos, alerting our small group to new potential danger.

  A smirk lifts my cheeks, and the paint plastered there cracks. Kat brought a few friends. “Not wolves. Shifters.” I tip my head back and laugh, pure delight taking over my actions. “The odds are now even, my friend!” I slap Jaemes on the shoulder.

  The large wolves drum through the trees, kicking snow into the air with massive, sharp paws. Their bodies are low to the ground as they gather speed, and the two in the back yip and nip at one another.

  The lead wolf takes down the first enemy angel it leaps on, the two skidding across the grass with the wolf’s paws firmly planted on the angel’s chest. The animal is swift and deadly, the others following their Alpha’s lead. The angel’s wings bend at an odd angle under the wolf’s weight, and with a quick chomp of his jaw, he bites the wrist of his prey. From the chest of his victim, he leaps to the next.

  Jaemes brothers whoop and shake their bows into the air with victory.

  “Let’s go,” Erma shouts to us from behind Kai.

  ELIZA PLAATS

  GUARDIAN REALM

  From here, I can hear the roar of a dragon in the distance and the boom of bolts of lightning as they strike. The vibrations shake the quarantine teepee walls and quake the ground below my feet. I get the feeling it’s not a thunderstorm brewing, but the beginning of a raging war. It’s the result of the rift which had settled over the realms and blackened the hearts of all those in them.

  The thought is fleeting, however, as my own battle is beginning with my incapable, and well-trained, hands.

  “Why isn’t it working?” I yell to the crowd gathered around Mitus’ table. He’s fading fast, and no matter how much of these tears I dribble into his mouth, it’s not working. His skin is pale even under the striped tattoos, and blood seeps from every opening in his body.

  The turnaround with the others was nothing short of a medical miracle, swiftly curing this illness faster than anything I’ve ever seen. It was instant, and Mitus had refused the treatment until his people were cured first. That wait may be the very thing that kills him.

  I understand magic and everything around me are against the laws and science of my realm, but if it worked so well with the others, why isn’t it for him?

  It’s too late, a voice says, deep and gentle. Though it’s a male voice chiming in my head and not my own, I ignore it with a quick dismissal of my warped conscience trying to seep through my panic.

  Erline wades through a crowd who eventually parts automatically for her. “He’s too far gone,” she murmurs when she reaches the table. With a slow sweep of eyes, she observes his slick and sweaty, bloodied body.

  A light beams around her hand, and she touches it to Mitus’ heart at the wrist. I know what she’ll find - she’ll find it barely beating just as I heard moments ago. A splutter gurgles in his chest, and his lips turn a shade of greyish-blue. He convulses, rattling the table.

  “Move!” I shove her aside. But nobody listens, and instead, they watch on in horror. “Move!”

  I grab Mitus’ jaw, open his mouth wide, and pour more clear liquid in with a shaky hand. Nothing happens, and when I release his face to see if it has any effect, his jaw slacks. A last hush of breath whistles between his teeth.

  “No.” I try again. Nothing. “No!” I shout, slamming a fist to the table. Sparks surge from my hand and crack against the surface next to his shoulder.

  “Eliza, do
not use your magic,” Erline cautions in a sea of whimpers.

  I look around, watching the elves comfort each other and visibly crumple in defeat. They’ve admitted failure. I’m not ready for that yet.

  I meet her gaze. Fear and determination shake my voice. “He can’t die. Not like this.”

  Her face, though with a firm set of black eyes, softens, and she holds out her hands in a gesture of peace. “He is dead, Eliza. It is not up to you if he lives. He’s gone.”

  “I refuse to let him go to the Death Realm!” I shout at her.

  Turning, I pour more into his mouth, and when I let go, the dragon tears drip at the corners of his lips. They trail a dreaded, sluggish path down the dried blood along his skin to the curve of his neck and find a final rest at the scoop of his collar bone.

  Tears stream down my cheeks, hot and salty. “No,” I whimper.

  My back curves, and I dip my head, sobs wracking my frame. I know he’s gone. There’s a numbness when someone’s spirit is no longer in their body. The atmosphere is eerie, silent, as though the body is only a shell which contains one’s soul. When a dead corpse lays in front of me, I don’t feel the comfort of another. The air feels just as empty as though they’re nothing else but a material object.

  Erline places a gentle hand on my shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

  His sacrifice was his choice, the voice whispers again.

  AIDEN VANDER

  DEMON REALM

  “Your fear is exquisite,” Timore murmurs with his eyelids fluttering in ecstasy.

  Slumped in my chair, sweat beads across my forehead and dribbles down the slopes of my back. I fight for air, for one pain free moment. Not because there’s a lack of oxygen, but instead my mind fights to control the situation I’m finding myself in: reality or non-reality.

  Again and again, Timore had forced me to watch as he ordered Eliza to kill herself, each way a different suicide. He’s a demon who specializes in manipulation of the mind, but this wasn’t what I had expected. I don’t think I can endure it one more time.

  It’s not real, I chant, and squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to believe.

  The child demon bends in front of me and demands my gaze. I pin him with a glare which promises an agonizing revenge.

  “I must admit, Thrice Born, you held out longer than anyone I’ve had the pleasure of tormenting.”

  I grind my teeth but blank my face, refusing to show him how much he’s shaken me. My muscles quiver anyway, exhausted with fighting my sanity and restraints.

  “Perhaps we should move on,” he sighs. “Umbra Malum?”

  With much effort, I lift my head and gaze at the misty shadow. He leaves his corner of the hexagon, floating to a few feet before me. Muffled moans come from within his core, blacker than his edges.

  Timore backs up and crosses his arms once more. “As I was the mind, Umbra is the soul,” he says. “Fear is the kiss of death, demon. Save yourself this torture. Tell me what I wish to know.”

  Between clenched teeth, I hiss. “Never.”

  He smiles a grin that was meant only to adorn an innocent child’s mouth. “Excellent. Then let’s continue.”

  Umbra’s murky shape swells and spreads his ferly shadow, taking most of my immediate and peripheral view. The edges curl and wave, a content tail of an impish house cat.

  Clearing my throat uneasily, I push my spine against the back of the chair, and the wood creaks. I squint to his darkening middle, and featureless faces emerge, pressing into the dense black gloom as though it is a thin plastic sack. The many faces’ mouths open in silent screams, jaws ostensibly unhinged.

  “Umbra consumes the souls of his victims,” Timore supplies optimistically. “It’s a fascinating thing to watch.”

  The expanded shadow creeps forward, and I jut my chin to the side with a grimace. The tail-like curls reach, writhing and twitching fingers, my sternum their aim. My breaths come faster, harsh bursts, and I prepare myself for what’s to come by curling my restrained hands into tight fists.

  Uncontrollably, fear wafts from my skin and coats the room with a thick, powerful aroma, feeding the Children of the Night. If they get to my soul, it’ll no longer belong to the woman I love.

  “Yes!” the child demon cries, holding out his arms to his sides while he drinks what my pores offer. His pinched features morph to pure glee.

  I grunt as one of the shadow’s fingers dip into my skin, through my ribs, and directly into the flesh of my chest. They search within like a prying, blind hand, coiling around organs, vessels, and bones. My nails bite into my palms, and I suck in a sharp inhale when they touch my lungs, cold against my internal warmth. The fingers grasp and clutch something inside tucked securely in my middle, and an internal pop vibrates my ribs and aches my collarbones.

  My soul.

  My pinched eyes widen as I stare at the silent screaming souls within the shadow, their open mouths just before my face, and I roar as the fingers yank.

  Seconds? Minutes? Hours. Hours which I fight to keep the soul within my body, all the while picturing Eliza’s face in my mind’s eye. Her smile, her waving red hair, her fear in the face of her true husband’s presence. I have to protect her, and so I had fought with every internal will-power I had to keep my soul in my chest.

  My soul is hers!

  When the shadow retreats to the corner it came from, unsuccessful, its murky fingers twitch with displeasure. The faces sink back within, returning to his core with a chorus of moans.

  “You are powerful,” Timore professes in rage. “I’ve underestimated you again.”

  “It happens to the best of us.” I shift in my chair, righting my posture, and gasp. My body aches like a festering torn ligament, soul in agony, and a sharp stab throbs where I mentally tugged to keep it my own.

  “You’ve survived two of the three Children of the Night, Thrice Born. A feat not many can boast. Not even the mighty Kheelan and Sureen could manage when we were sent to frighten them into compliance. They caved quickly. It almost wasn’t any fun.”

  Kheelan and Sureen. His slip of admission doesn’t go over my head. Is this how Corbin man-handled them to join his side?

  With effort, I lift my heavy eyes to his, tucking that nugget of information into a deep pocket of my mind. “Do you give up?”

  “Never,” he growls, a contorting snarl.

  “A shame.” I attempt to click my tongue, but instead, the action sounds more like a sloshing of spit. Even my mouth is too exhausted for mockery.

  “Chao Mortis,” he calls to the half-faced monster, anxiety creeping into his beckoning and cracking his voice.

  I worry him. Good.

  One more. I can endure one more. Perhaps then they will believe my lie.

  Chao strides forward, graceful compared to his legendary creation. His name means of chaos, but I have no idea what he’s truly capable of. If Timore is the mind, and the shadow the soul, that would deem Chao the body - the muscle of the three.

  He wastes no time. Even before he strides in front of me, he begins his torture.

  A burning sensation blossoms along my neck, a fresh slice from an invisible knife, and I hiss against the pain, whipping my head to the side. Another slice along my chest, deep and festering, and then another, each healing themselves before the next wound is opened.

  I clamp my jaw and curl my fingers into tighter fists, straining against the pain. The slices are random and a few seconds apart from each other. A cut is made against my inner thigh. I moan. The severed soft flesh trembles my thighs against my will.

  Eliza, forgive me, I weep to myself.

  A long slice reaches from my chin to my groin, slow, deep, and my chest bows as I wail.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  What do normal people do when their homes are overrun? What do good, kind-natured souls demand from it? Do they fight for their territory? Or do they flee and save what little they have left?

 
; These are the questions which absorb my thoughts after we enter the Grounds, bombarded with immediate attacks. There’s no way further in, and the only option left is to run or fight our way through.

  My questions are simple, but any answer I choose can decide my fate forever, and that of the realm I’ve been taught to protect with my very last breath.

  “Tember!” Erma shouts past the masses of taunting hollers directed at us and the shattering of weapon against weapon outside. We’re shoulder to shoulder.

  Every voice, every evidence of death, seeps into my heart, and my wrist dangerously thumps, regret driving the beats.

  This feels like a trap.

  With little choice, we have to duck behind pillars as soon as we slip inside, and I currently press my spine against one. A ripped portion of my shirt exposes the skin along my back to the smooth marble, grounding me and my wavering choices.

  I breathe slowly, deeply, attempting to calm my nerves. This has never happened to me - this fear in battle. But this time I have more to lose.

  “Tember!” she yells again, vibrating my ears.

  I turn my head to her and tensely lick my bottom lip. My dry tongue feels like sandpaper against the tender flesh. She is what I could lose.

  “Are you ready?” she mimes while watching my mouth.

  An arrow flies past her head, ruffling her perfect red locks. The electric bolt pops as it whizzes by and booms when it strikes the pillar Jaemes ducks behind. The marble cracks, a spider web from top to bottom, but the structure holds steady. Fallen angels fire upon us again, desperate to keep the Angel’s Ground as their own.

  Jaemes focuses on me, his face hard, steel. The muscles tick in his cheek, displaying his pure determination and his unwavering faith in me. He nods his head, a silent demand to pull myself together. But how can one pull herself together when we are outnumbered ten to one? How can I pull myself together when the one I love fights alongside me?