by Adam Lynch
Peering around the couple grinding against his cell, he examined the others closer to the door—seeing if any of them were carrying the keys. “What was that wolf blabberin’ on about?” asked a vampire with several others near the door. “I heard no such call, did ye?”
“Ah, he’s aff his heid!” said another. “Ain’t no one heard it but him.”
Suddenly—that very moment—an army of howls sounded. The alarm was so loud and indistinctive that all the prisoners muffled their ears. The vampires became vastly startled.
“Ye heard that one?” the vampire said to the skeptic.
The skeptic scoffed.
At this, they resumed their party, seemingly ignoring the alarm entirely. “Lucky, we’ve been assigned guard duty,” said the kissing vampire in front of Ashkii’s cell. “No fightin’ for us!”
Just then, Ashkii found the keys that he’d been looking for. He’d remember its shape. It dangled from the hands of a pale child vampire… and like the child vampire that he’d once seen at the tavern, this one too had purple eyes. Identically like the first girl, this child stared straight at him, doing nothing but standing there. None of the animated Red-Bloods surrounding her seemed suspicious of this—almost like they hadn’t even noticed her. This was starting to become a strange pattern…
“Ashkii, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” asked Kel suddenly, approaching him and placing her hands on his cheek. “Why are you falling asleep? Did they somehow poison you?”
Ashkii was wholly perplexed by her meaning. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he felt it. He began getting really drowsy. What was happening? Did it have something to do with that purple-eyed child?
“Ashkii, stay with me. Stay with me.”
He was losing consciousness fast. He didn’t understand how. He didn’t understand why.
He lost his footing, Kel helping him to the ground. She appeared worried—but not confused… not like he was.
Her words were becoming less and less audible. He could barely process them. Ashkii had no idea what was happening. He was in great shock of it all.
Then, in the midst of that chaos, more had spurred. In one blow, all the torches of the dungeon had blown out, the entire area turning to pitch darkness—no one but the vampires could see a thing.
“Aye, who doused the lights?” Ashkii heard a vampire ask.
“No fashes. The party lives on!” voiced another.
They all raised their voices to cheer in agreement.
That was the last thing Ashkii heard before passing unconscious a second time.
Death
Awake, Ashkii,” Kel’s voice had echoed, his body jerking left to right. “Awake. Can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes, the emitting flames of the Knife of Embers allowing him to see Kel’s face—the rest still shrouded in total darkness.
“There was an incident after you fell unconscious,” she said, Ashkii struggling to sit up. “Lift up your Spirit Bow. See for yourself.”
Confused by her meaning, he slowly arose, doing what she said. He approached the cell door and was astounded—it was open. He faced Kel to ensure he wasn’t seeing things, but she nodded, confirming his vision true. Stepping out of the cell, his bow raised overhead, he immediately turned away from what he saw. The sight haunted his eyes.
Blood. Bodies. They were everywhere.
All the vampire Red-Bloods had had their throats stabbed multiple times. The gap of the many wounds were small and not too deep—knife stabbings from the look of it. But there was something else he’d noticed about each of them... the mark… the mark of the Hypnotist—they all carried it. They were its victims. But why did he only see Red-Bloods? Where were the bodies of the prisoners?
To get his answer, he shined the light over to the cell of the White-Bloods. Empty. Not a body to be found. He aimed to the adjacent cell—no bodies there either.
“Before you fell unconscious, all the torches blew out,” Kel explained. “None of us saw a thing, but later when the Red-Bloods got really drunk, loud, and started having crazier sex, we heard body after body falling to the ground. The area got quieter and quieter, but none of the remaining Red-Bloods reacted. We assumed they were all blacking out. This went on until there was one left—and that’s when we knew it wasn’t a Red-Blood. It paced swiftly around the hall, stabbing all twelve of the bodies violently. When it finished, it dropped the weapon—the weapon sounded small, made of iron—then it unlocked all of the cells and disappeared. All the prisoners escaped, but I kept you safe here.”
When she finished, Ashkii nodded, his eyes wandering near the ground in thought. Then suddenly, he noticed something in the midst of the dead bodies and blood.
A knife—its blade covered in blood. The murder weapon—that was it. It was just as Kel had heard. A small knife made of iron…
“Are there any illusions masking anything?” Ashkii asked, not listening to her.
“No,” she said, stopping, paying him full attention. “What you see is all there is.”
He nodded.
“We should hurry and get out of here,” she urged, pacing towards the dungeon door. “The escaped prisoners will keep the Red-Bloods distracted for a while, but it won’t be long before they search this place again—they already burst in here once, but I kept us hidden.”
There was much Ashkii was still perplexed about, but she was right. They needed to move.
Following after her, they located their quivers near the front of the dungeon on a table. The arrows inside them had been dumped—they didn’t know where. Having recovered the quivers, Kel cautiously opened the dungeon door, using her Knife of Embers to illuminate the way.
Still, Ashkii couldn’t help but do a bit of investigating along the path. He kept his bow high, lighting the walls and steps around him. He searched for anything that might reveal where the Hypnotist went next. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what to look for. The Hypnotist wasn’t the only being that had come up this way the past few hours. Even so, though, this was the first time that Ashkii had witnessed the Hypnotist’s work in first-person. There had to be something he could gather and learn.
“What are you thinking?” Kel asked, noticing his preoccupation. “Tell me what it is.”
“I’m wondering why the Hypnotist would spare and free the prisoners… or why it was even here. Was it after something? Searching for something?”
“Did you notice the child vampire with purple eyes?”
Hearing this, Ashkii came to an instant halt, giving her his full attention. “Yes,” he said. “I did. And I saw another child with the same eyes back at the tavern.”
“You did?” She seemed surprised, looking away, suddenly appearing apprehensive.
“Do you think that the two children with the purple eyes could be members of its cult? Perhaps they’re spies following us… watching us. Perhaps the child we saw here was the one who killed the Red-Bloods and freed us. But if this is true then the Hypnotist wants us alive. But why? Doesn’t it know we’re hunting it? Could it be using us for something? Using me? I do possess a tool that can’t be removed from my body.”
“You really think they’re connected to the Hypnotist?” She asked, facing him again. Her skeptical expression attracting Ashkii’s attention.
“Who do you think they are?”
Again she turned away, shaking her head slightly. “Nothing good,” she said.
They elevated until reaching a long curving hall. Taking it, they progressed carefully, hearing big thuds, shouts, roars, and cries of agony ahead. It sounded like a battle was waging. Kel, who still had lead the way, stopped them abruptly, raising her arm. “Wait, Ashkii,” she said, pulling his attention from his investigation. “We can’t go this way.”
Knowing she was right from what he heard, he peered over the corner anyway. Werewolves were defending the lower entrance of the tower, packed together and tackling any Spirit Hunter who had dared enter. Wi
sely, most of the Spirit Hunters had kept their distance, using their archery strengths to slay the Red-Bloods one by one. With Autumnum’s numbers great—their skills and timing tactical—they had successfully struck down six werewolves. But the fight was far from over. Enraged, Several Red-Bloods charged out, killing many of the grouped hunters suddenly. The battle was making a swift turnaround.
Regardless of who’d win this battle, Ashkii knew that it wasn’t possible for them to evacuate out this way. There were no other doors or windows on this floor to sneak out of. Ashkii and Kel had no choice but to retreat back to the doors on the bridge from which they were brought.
Realizing that time was quickly running out, they paced up the steps back to the bridge. Ashkii was still hastily searching for clues on the way up. When they’d made it to the doors that led to the bridge, Kel stopped them again suddenly. “What?” he asked. “What is it this time?”
“An illusion,” she said. “I sense its influence over the area.”
“Then let’s unveil it.”
Doing as he said, there was a sudden change in the hall. An area that was once clear was suddenly polluted by spilled potions, elixirs and other alchemy. It stretched all the way down the hall, opposite side of the doors leading to the bridge. There was a door that cracked—a bright light was emitted from it. Oztior’s chamber? Intrigued, Ashkii and Kel followed the trail to the door, hiding behind it and softly creaking it open. Before deciding to enter, Ashkii peered over it—then abruptly shoved it open after what he saw.
Oztior, Salem’s court wizard—he was dying on the ground. The chamber was a catastrophic mess. Tables were knocked over, dangerous alchemy was spilled on the ground, puddles of it was melting Oztior’s left arm. Vials, Flasks, and potions were shattered, cages were bent—whatever was in them got out. The small roused flames were growing more irritable, and the disastrous sorcery spillage—with the revolting smell that came with it—was soon going to escalate into a much bigger problem.
Ashkii dashed for the sorcerer, enacting his swiftest examination. There were no mortal wounds on the body. There were some burns from the spilled alchemy, but nothing lethal. To confirm that this was the Hypnotist’s work, he raised the sorcerer’s neck to see its back. The mark—it was there!
Suddenly, Oztior’s eyes flashed open, gasping dramatically—Ashkii was so startled that he’d nearly struck him with his hunter knife. He’s alive, he thought, his eyes widening. A witness of the being who’d attacked him. This was his chance. His moment. His break in the case.
Gripping his robe, he lifted him off the ground, eyes piercing the withered man’s soul.
“The Hypnotist. Did it attack you?” he asked him.
Oztior, barely conscious, uttered sluggish words, but failed to produce them coherently.
Poison, Ashkii observed. That’s what was killing him. Time was running out.
“Speak and let vengeance be yours. Who did this to you? What did this to you? Man? Woman? Beast? Child? Speak up!”
“Fear...” His words finally became comprehensible, Ashkii’s attention sharpening. “So great it was...” He paused. “I saw the anger, the fear, the affliction. So afraid of what I might do, what I could do...”
“What was it?” Ashkii asked again, his fixation growing more intense.
Hearing this, the sorcerer made direct eye contact with him. Then, he struggled with all his might to utter what had looked like would be his final words. His lips parted, and then he uttered, There’s nothing more terrifying in life than death.
At this, the sorcerer’s gaze lifted to the ceiling, a look of terror on his face. But Ashkii, frustrated and unsatisfied, began to shake him violently. “Who did this?!” he shouted. “Move your lips!”
But it was already too late. Whatever light that was left in him had faded away. No longer had Ashkii carried life in his hands.
Flustered, he released him, his eyes redirecting towards the bright illumination of the red moon outside. Then suddenly, he saw a child—a boy with purple eyes… staring straight at him while sitting on the edge of a large open window.
Bug-eyed, Ashkii sprang up. “It’s you!” he exclaimed.
Suddenly, the boy leaned back—Ashkii bursting towards him with unrelenting haste.
“No, stop!” He leaped for the window but it was too late. The boy dropped to his death.
Peering over the window and panting heavily—frustrated, adrenaline coursing through his veins—he was consciously contemplating on jumping after him...
The War of Seasons
Ashkii!” Kel exclaimed suddenly, palming his shoulder. “Something’s emerging. We have to go.”
Unclear of what she meant by this, he faced her—then aimed his glance towards the puddled alchemy liquids. She was right. Something was arising from it off the floor—a thick smoke. But not just there. It was everywhere—reeking, hissing, taking shape, and forming ghastly, disfigured faces with bright yellow eyes.
“Demons,” he said aloud, gaping as more and more of the smoke infested the area.
Ashkii and Kel dashed for the door, but something shut it closed. Loud hyena cackles sounded all around. Ashkii and Kel flipped to the other direction. Suddenly, they saw Oztior’s lifeless body hovering over the floor. Its bones cracked like something invisible was forcing them to move. Then something also moved its face, a scowl unnaturally drawn. From it, a raging hiss followed.
Ashkii immediately drew out his Spirit Bow, going to string it until he remembered he had no arrows. “Blast it,” he said. Yet in spite of this, the demons stumbled at the sight of it, fearing its holy glow. Ashkii, catching this, swung the bow over at the body. The demon fled it immediately in terror, letting the body drop to the ground.
“The Spirit Bow—they fear it?” Kel asked, Ashkii facing the door.
A theory working in his mind, Ashkii battered the cursed door with his Spirit Bow. It was just as he thought… smoke had fled following the impact of the Spirit Bow, freeing the door from possession. With it being a normal door now, he kick it open.
They bolted down the hall to the door that led to the bridge. Violent hisses sounded from behind. The demons chased them, their bodies shaping more fully every second. They grew bigger and stronger. Ashkii knew they didn’t have a chance to fight them. Demons were spirits and spirits couldn’t die. He and Kel could only flee… as fast and far away as they could.
Once past the doors of the tower, Ashkii and Kel shut them tight. Then, they dashed over the vacant bridge.
“We’re escaping through the castle’s front gate?” Kel asked, sprinting beside him.
“No choice,” he replied. “It’s the only way.”
Passing the castle’s doors into the east wing and reaching the throne room, Ashkii realized that fortune had finally favored them. Chaos in the castle held Winteria’s attention. A large army of Summerian Sun-Shields had stormed the castle, infiltrating it and attacking Salem and his Red-Blood army in the throne room. They wore golden breastplates, shin and forearm guards, and helmets with tall crests. Additionally, they wore orange-yellow capes and cloth, and sandals. They fought with iron-tipped spears and swords, and carried large golden shields that had a symbol of the sun on it. Apart from their apparel, what had distinguished a Summerian from other ethnics was their blonde hair and blue eyes.”
The Red-Blood vampires, protected in full-body iron armor, a sword, a large shield, and chainmail, clashed swords with the Sun-Shield warriors. The vampires attacked viciously with unrelenting stamina, yet they were seemingly no match for the passionate fighting spirit of Summeria. The Sun-Shields fought with great defensive strategies and courage. Fearless war cries led them to epic finishes and impossible turn-outs. Each soldier fought independently with personal conviction, making all of them—not just their leaders—forces to recognize and acknowledge.
But this was only until the werewolves jumped into the fray. Without any armor, the werewolves absorbed much damage. Each of them was as strong as three men,
fast as a wolf, and smart and skilled as a humanoid fighter—it was no wonder why they were so greatly revered. Their unrivaled physical attributes gave them substantial advantages on the battlefield, heart or none—conviction or none. They sprang at the Sun-Shields, pulling their armor apart and feasting on their bodies. They tackled them to the ground. They threw them across the perimeter. They tore their bodies in half. The one moment when werewolves were weak was when they fed on their defeated enemies. In these instances, the Sun-Shields had no choice but to team up and embrace these opportunities. If the Red-Bloods were allowed to feed, then their army would grow stronger—and as would the immortal king.
Salem Valentine—he was the one man whom Ashkii had to avoid detection from at all costs. If found, it’d be all over for them. Nothing could end him. Nothing could subdue him. Nothing could stop him.
Yet, teams of Sun-Shields swarmed him, striking him, attempting to subdue him—but the king, with the strength of a werewolf and the youth of a vampire, overpowered them all. No one stood a chance. Striking him was like striking a practice dummy. No blood from his body was ever spilled. Anybody close to him was thrown across the room. He was as swift as a bat, skilled as a first-class warrior, and cunning as a war veteran. Yet despite this, the Sun-Shields did not relent, blindly eager to capture him and take his castle.
Fortunately for Ashkii and Kel, this kept Salem’s attention fully grasped, allowing them to slip through the battlefield unnoticed. Masking their bodies and weapons with cloaks found nearby, they dashed from pillar to pillar, hiding in the darkness. They had to hasten their escape, however, their invisibility pending the threat of expiration. It wouldn’t be long before immortality had prevailed. At the rate of this dominating devastation, there’d be no bodies left standing for the Red-Bloods to be distracted by.
