by Plum Pascal
More than anything, I want to feel his shadows and darkness plunging into me. I want to feel him burrowing himself so deeply inside me that I scream out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. I want this barbarian, this beast, to own me, to imprint me with his seed.
###
Dragan
I take a step away from the beautiful woman, intent on leaving both her and the annoying sprite, but something pulls me back, as if invisible arms are pushing me to her. The shadows within me are pulling, struggling to maintain their grasp on the unconscious girl. I can feel them wrapping their tendrils of dark mist around her, holding onto her tightly.
“Bloody fuck,” I grumble under my breath as I realize I can’t leave her here, though I also can’t say why. A woman has never had this effect on me. Maybe it’s a sign I need to fuck. I haven’t fucked a woman in so long I can’t remember, and this must be the indication that my body needs it.
I wrap her in the bed linens. As soon as I touch her, though, something happens. I feel power pulsing through her tiny body. It envelops my hand and weaves up my arm, into my chest and causes my breath to freeze. It feels like a legion of ants dancing over every inch of my skin, but the energy is beneath my skin, not on top of it, thrumming and crackling electricity.
I pause momentarily, surprised. There’s strength in her. Power. Yes, I can detect the Atacomite, as well. Anona gave her a hefty dose, no doubt to keep her immobile and, as such, an easy victim. But there’s something else, just beyond the Atacomite. By touching her, I feel my own magic begin to boil up as if it answers her silent call. But this time, the shadows aren’t trying to force me to take her—they’re responding to her, stimulated by her, drawn to her.
I can’t explain it, but I feel captured by her, by the magic that undoubtedly flows within her.
Using the Arcane Magic that’s part of me, I throw her over my shoulder and imagine everything surrounding me in black. Then, I whisper the words to allow myself to become invisible in the eyes of those who would perceive me.
Blind from sight.
I imagine myself fading into the darkness around me, becoming one with the shadows, one with Shadow Magic that infiltrates me—that is me.
I take the stairs slowly, not wanting my footfalls to be detected. But the tavern is a busy and loud place, so maybe I’m being overly cautious. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I start for the rear of the establishment, the same way I came in. But then I realize the doorway is blocked by a large and buxom woman who’s busily kissing a centaur.
“Go to the right,” the sprite’s voice offers, and I realize he’s hiding beneath the bed linens, just on top of the angel’s hair.
Little bastard.
Given no other options, I follow his suggestion and find myself facing an empty corridor.
“At the end of the hallway’s a door leadin’ outside,” the sprite continues.
No sooner do I reach the end of the hallway than I hear Anona’s high-pitched scream as she presumably discovers her treasure is missing. The panicked sounds of her footfalls overhead meet my ears as she runs down the stairs and announces to the tavern that the angel is missing. Then, the entire room is a cacophony of noise.
I run down the remainder of the hallway and watch as the sprite flies from his perch on top of the girl and attempts to open the door, only to find it locked from the outside. I could use my Shadow Magic to unlock the door but in this realm, my magic isn’t as strong as it is in the Shadow Realm. And the last thing I want to do is waste my reserves.
With time dwindling and our options shrinking before our eyes, I pull my leg back and release it, kicking the door open. The sound of the wood splitting is louder than I would’ve liked. It grabs the attention of Anona and one of her guards, because she appears at the mouth of the corridor a split second later.
“She heard you an’ she comin’ after us! Go!” the sprite orders and I lurch forward, clinging to the girl as I bolt outside. My magic is weaker in the mortal plane and I can’t manage the invisibility façade any longer, so I shed it. But by the time I do, I close my eyes again and pull the shadows to the forefront of my mind.
Summon Mists, I command and when I open my eyes, I’m surrounded by a bank of thick fog that obscures my soldiers and me from view. By this time, I’m ensconced in the forest that borders Anona’s tavern, now hidden in part by the trees.
“This way, liege!” one of my centurions, Hlin, calls out from my right and I run in his direction, the sprite remaining airborne just beside me.
At the same time, Anona appears outside.
Arcane Eye! I command, and I can no longer see from my right eye as the magic within me borrows my vision, thrusting the eye far above the line of the trees where it floats, invisible, and homes in on Anona. Once the mists of my magic recede, she tracks me, her eyes latching onto me immediately.
But she’s too late. My centurions have already prepared the Arcane Gate, a portal spell that will allow us reentry into the Gorge.
The Arcane Gate appears as a two-dimensional glowing ring filled with the dark mist of the Gorge. It hovers an inch or so above the ground and, at my signal, my centurions begin filling it, crossing over into our home territory.
As the Arcane Eye disposes of itself, my vision returns.
“Dragan!” Anona squeals behind me as I jump into the Gate and feel the coldness of the Shadow Magic of the Gorge enveloping me, recognizing me and becoming one with me.
I’m home.
Unfortunately, however, Anona has spotted me and I know what this means. The angel won’t be safe in the Gorge. Once Variant learns that I’ve taken an angel hostage, he’ll wonder why. Of course, he won’t imagine she still possesses her wings (and I’m beginning to doubt whether she truly does) but there’s a reason his most recent edict included the return of all angels. He’s planning something—and, whatever it is, I’m convinced it’s terrible.
###
Dragan
“Where to, Shadow Master?” the sprite asks with a wide grin once we’re safely ensconced in the darkness of the mist, in the plane of shadow.
“You’re still here?” I respond, pausing to set the angel down before me.
“I ain’t got nowhere’s else ta go,” he answers with a shrug. “Anona’s place was my home an’ clearly, I can’t go back theres no more. So, looks like I’m stuck with you. You need a servant or somethin’? I’m real good at servin’ drinks without spillin’.”
“No,” I answer but I can’t say my attention is on him at present. Instead, I want proof that I haven’t just made a crucial mistake. One that could cost me more than I’m willing to pay. I need to find out if this angel is truly intact.
Admittedly, I tried doing the same back at Anona’s, but my magic wasn’t at its strongest then. Here, I should have no issue in summoning the angel’s wings—that is, if she truly possesses them.
Once I place the girl down on the ground, she’s immediately enveloped by the roving mist. I reach down and roll her over, pulling the linens down to reveal her backside.
“What you doin’?” the sprite asks, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Ensuring that I haven’t been sold a bill of goods,” I answer without looking up at him.
“What the fuck’s that mean?”
“We’ll soon find out,” I respond as I hold my hands above the angel’s back and allow the shadows to rise up within me, invoking the power of my magic. Tendrils of dark energy erupt from my fingertips and surround the still girl.
Reveal your true form.
But my magic is buttressed against something that surrounds her. As I push against whatever this reinforcement is, my magic seems to dissipate, growing weaker. I summon more of my shadow forth, but it simply dispels once it reaches whatever invisible barrier envelops her. Though I can’t see the forcefield, I can feel it. My magic can feel it.
“I don’t understand,” I say aloud, anger consuming me.
“What’s there to understand?” the sprite respon
ds as Thoradin appears beside him with another of my legion, Gurdis, beside him. I look up at them and shake my head.
“What perplexes you, liege?” Thoradin asks.
“She has a magical barrier,” I explain as I study the unconscious girl, trying to ascertain just how powerful she is.
“Her veins are swimming with Atacomite,” Gurdis says.
“Yes, but that’s not the reason she’s unresponsive,” I respond, shaking my head because my power should be strong enough to force the girl to respond. I then face the sprite, who leans over Gurdis’ shoulder to inspect the girl. “Unless there’s nothing for her to respond to,” I announce, my eyes narrowing on the sprite.
“What d’you mean?” the creature asks.
“If the angel has no wings, there’s no amount of my Shadow Magic that could make them appear,” I say.
It takes the sprite a moment or two to understand what I’m getting at. Once he does, his eyes go wide and he begins shaking his head, holding up his hands in obvious supplication.
“I dunno why yer magic ain’t workin’ but I’m tellin’ you what I saw. This angel got her wings. Maybe she be too high on Atacamite an’ it be gettin’ in the way o’ your little spell…”
“She’s not. Atacomite has nothing to do with it,” I interrupt. “And it’s not a little spell, as you put it. Shadow Magic is hardly little nor can it be categorized as spells.”
“Give it some time,” the sprite says, but he appears nervous. “I can prove to you that you’re thinkin’ be wrong.” He nods emphatically. “You’ll see. Besides, it ain’t like yer jist gonna leave her here, are ya?” He glances around and seems to become frightened by his surroundings.
The Shadow Realm is hardly safe, littered as it is by bloodthirsty creatures and the undead. Were I to leave the sprite and the girl here alone, they would undoubtedly be killed within a half hour, at most.
And even I’m not that horrible.
SIX
Baron
One Hundred Years Earlier
Mortal Realm
The darkness embraces me, rocks me in its dark cradle.
“Arise my chosen one,” a melodic, sweet voice interrupts the nothingness of my slumber.
“Arise my champion of darkness, of shadow.”
Then the peace, warmth, and tranquility of the void is lost to me as a chilling cold takes its place, enveloping me with the breath of ice.
“Arise my Revenant,” the saccharine female voice continues, beckoning me forth. I am unable to deny her whisper, to resist her compulsion.
I can feel again. And all I feel is a chill that emanates from deep within me. My chest is heavy, constricted.
“Come, my Shadow Knight.”
The words, as soft as fluttering wings, are an order to a body that cannot refuse them. And I am locked inside that body. My eyes snap open of their own accord. And though it is pitch blackness, I can see.
But what I see does not make sense to me. It is the top of something round that surrounds me on all sides. I am trapped beneath it. I turn my neck. No, I am trapped within it.
“Call on your shadows, Revenant, tell them to free you.”
Something burns within me. Determination, perhaps.
I do not understand what the voice is saying but I feel something welling up within me all the same. It flutters and fills me with a buoyancy I struggle to describe.
I feel my hands come up on either side of me, and my palms place themselves flat against whatever is encapsulating me. I push.
What feels like wood begins to splinter beneath my hands, breaking away as something dark and crumbly falls against my face and into my mouth.
Dirt. And worms.
I close my eyes as I continue pushing against the wood, cracking it with the sheer force of my strength.
I feel myself sitting up as more of the wet earth pushes against me, trying to drive me back into the cold and moist darkness. I claw at the dirt, digging through it as I force myself into a standing position. The dirt falls around me, filling the cavity of the hole that holds me captive.
I dig upward, never pausing, never stalling, even when I realize I am not breathing—there is no expansion in my chest, nor the feeling of air filling my lungs. I do not breathe and yet I am animate. I cannot explain it.
Instead, I dig for what feels like an eternity. And when I finally feel nothing but air beneath my fingertips, I do not pause. I pull myself from the crevice even as it attempts to suck me ever downward.
“Open your eyes and behold a world you have not seen in far too long,” the voice announces, but its mistress is nowhere to be seen. “You have arrived, Revenant.”
The dirt falls away from my eyes as I blink, allowing my vision to adjust to the bright moonlight that acts as a beacon upon me. I do not understand where I am. Colors are dim, as though bathed in a wash of gray, and every sound is foreign, new. The world appears strange.
I glance around myself and feel a shudder pass through me at what I see.
Headstones, old and broken.
Some are nothing more than crumbling masonry. The ground is uneven, sprayed here and there with tufts of mostly dead grass.
I am in the hallowed ground of the dead, surrounded by those engaged in a sleep that has been denied me.
Brief images suddenly splatter through my confused mind. Before this place, I existed somewhere else. That place was dark, too, but the darkness was not akin to this. It was not so cold. A fleet of faces, scenes, and feelings blast me at the same time—all jumbled and confused.
“What has happened?” I demand, my voice sounding scratchy. As though I have not used it in decades. But it is my voice all the same; I recognize it.
“You have returned upon my dictate,” the voice answers. “I have awoken you from your forever sleep, Revenant, because I have need of you.”
My forever sleep? I try to understand what this means, to understand what came before this moment, but my memory is a blank slate. There is nothing there, other than the flood of images that feel more like a half-forgotten dream.
I do not understand how it is possible, but I understand what has happened.
I was dead.
Perhaps, I still am.
I attempt to stand, but I am wobbly on my feet and must grasp onto a large headstone so I do not lose my footing. As I do, a gentle rain begins to fall, bathing me in cold tears.
Looking down upon myself, I find the dirt that coats me becoming mud, successfully camouflaging my ripped and mostly disintegrated clothing. I wonder how long I was buried within the unforgiving ground.
Somehow, I have been returned to a world I vacated long ago. How long ago, I am uncertain, as the hollowness of my memory is unreliable at best.
I throw my head back and open my mouth as wide as it will go as a scream blasts from my lips, echoing through the headstones of the city of the dead.
###
Baron
Mortal Realm
I sit in a plush, velvet lounge chair with a woman in my lap. I don’t know her name. She wears only stockings, held up by a black lace garter belt, and her breasts are in my face. Not that I mind. I busily drink from the generous artery in her neck. Her blood tastes like earth, which is unsurprising since she’s a satyr.
The woman isn’t the reason I’m here—the man just behind her is. He’s my target: a half-orc who looks mostly human, except for his immense height and girth, pointed ears, underslung jaw, and fangs. He’s beyond ugly.
The target sits perhaps ten feet to my right, with a faerie on his lap who is one-quarter the size he is. I’m not exactly certain what he plans to do with her or how he plans on doing it, but because this is a brothel, perhaps I’m just being ignorant.
Regardless, I have a job to do.
Once I have satiated myself on the satyr’s blood, I stand, feigning the need to visit the restroom. As I’m a bloodsucker, I have no digestive system of which to speak of, thus it’s unnecessary for me to relieve myself.
The satyr is so high on Atacomite, she isn’t bothered when I separate myself from her. In fact, I doubt she even realizes I’ve been feeding on her for the last ten minutes. And, no, the Atacomite has no effect on me. Over the years, I’ve developed a tolerance for most poisons.
Using the shadows that animate me, I bathe myself in a cloud of night, appearing as a space of relative darkness to anyone who cares to look my way. It would not behoove me for anyone to remember my face. Not that anyone in this room could, anyway. Prior to becoming shadow, I had used my inherent magic to alter my image, ensuring no one would recognize me if the need for such discretion ever arose.
I start towards my target, the half-orc.
He is busily kissing the faerie, nearly consuming her entire face and slobbering all over her in the process. Revolting. But also, not my business.
I move with the shadows until I’m standing just behind him, but he and the faerie are no more aware of me than anyone else in the room. Just as I planned.
I hold my hands together until my shadows take shape between them, then release the Death Mark—a black sigil of Shadow Magic. The mark latches onto the back of the target’s head, and the sigil pulses with my shadows, creating a bond between executioner and victim. I will be able to track him now, wherever he goes.
But my business here isn’t quite finished.
I glance down and unwind the leather reticule from around my waist. Opening the flap, I behold the array of vials of liquids and powders contained within it—my poisoning kit. I run my fingers across them until I reach the one I’m searching for: Spined Devil Venom. I pull the glass vial out.
The liquid is a deep midnight blue, oily and thick. Once it travels into the target’s blood stream, it will cause his body to become sluggish as the poison attacks the muscles and essential tissues that aide the body in movement. The Spined Devil Venom simply makes it easier for me to finish my job later.
Pulling the smallest of my daggers from within my shirt sleeve, I tug the cork from the bottle and dip the pointy end of the blade into the blue liquid until it coats perhaps a quarter of an inch. It’s not much, but I don’t require much—a slight scratch on the target’s neck will do the trick.