by Ryan Attard
“Aside from the embodiment of your subconscious and the powers of your curse,” Anael said, “what else do you know about this entity?”
“Not much,” I said. “Why?”
“Because I never heard of such a phenomenon,” she said. “Which leads me to believe that this Dark Erik is purely a psychological manifestation, not a magical one.”
“What are you saying? That I made him up?” I asked.
“Essentially, yes,” she replied. “I believe that Dark Erik was the result of you subconsciously locking away your magic powers.”
“Locking away?” I echoed. “I was a kid when that happened.”
“A trauma,” she said. “With that much power, you likely overloaded your system. Erik, humans cannot use magic instinctively. Your emotions and your state of mind dictate how you manifest magic.” She pursed her lips. “This is the source of your trauma. And it’s what Wrath has been feeding on.”
I remained silent, trying to digest what she was saying. If that was true then I should have been capable of doing magic this whole time. I mean, I had spent hours in agony as a kid, trying so hard to do magic and getting a dose of pain for my efforts every time.
But maybe she was right. I’d never heard about a condition like mine, either. Maybe I did associate magic with pain—after all, it was because of magic that I had died the first time, lost my dad, lost my family, got hunted down by monsters, and spent the rest of my life fighting nightmares.
Sometimes even becoming the very monsters I warred with.
I looked Anael in the eye again.
“I need to see this through.”
She nodded. “I will send you back to where it all originated from. You must separate the Sin from yourself.”
“How?”
She smiled. “You’ll know how.”
The world shifted again, and this time I was on my feet, surrounded by soft firelight and the smell of old musty books. They say your sense of smell is the strongest when it comes to memories. The smell of old books always brought back memories of a happy place, one that quickly soured and turned bad.
I looked around and grimaced. This was the last place on Earth I ever wanted to visit, a place no longer present in our reality but still going strong in my mind.
My father’s study was as I remembered it, with wooden shelves lined with books, trinkets and artifacts. A small spartan desk on one side, with half-dried-up ink bottles and rusty pens in the right corner, and dulled yellowed paper in the middle. My father was old-school like that.
The fireplace was warm and comforting, with two armchairs facing each other tilted to one side towards the flames. The soft crackle of firewood was like a lullaby.
Occupying one of the armchairs was a young boy with my eyes, my hair, my nose, and my complexion. He closed the book and stood up, dropping it in surprise.
When he spoke, I recognized my rebellious attitude in every syllable.
“Who the hell are you?”
Chapter 32
“Who the hell are you?”
Ever wondered how bratty you sounded as a kid?
I raised my hands.
“Relax, Erik,” I said.
“How do you know my name?” he—I—said.
“I’m you.”
“No, you’re not. I’m standing right here.”
“I know,” I said. “We are in your imagination. I am the older, current you. You are the younger me.”
“This is bullshit.”
Was it still child abuse if you slapped yourself as a kid?
I sighed.
“I get it,” I said. “You’re angry. That shit isn’t going to go away for a very long time.”
Young Erik’s jaw clenched, the same way mine does when I’m pissed.
“You’ve lost your magic already, huh?” I said, eyeing the book. I could see the title on the spine, embroidered in gold ink.
MAGIC.
Sometimes the clue was right in front of you.
“Yeah, I remember being here,” I said. “I read everything in hopes of finding something to get it back.”
“I won’t give up,” he said. “I will get it back. I have to.”
“For Gil, right?” I said. “You want to protect her.” I cocked my head. “No, not just that. You want to prove to yourself you don’t need anyone.”
“Shut up! You don’t know me.”
“I do know you, kid,” I said. “That’s the problem. I know everything about you. I know how angry you are.”
“I said, shut up!”
Young Me’s aura flared. An ethereal creature rose from behind him, a tick-like shape snapping at him. Young Me didn’t seem to notice it.
“What — you think some loving words are gonna solve this?” Young Me snapped. “You think you’re all zen now? Huh?”
The more he raged the bigger Wrath grew over his shoulders.
“You think you can tame me?” he roared. “Control me like he wants to?”
“I’m not our dad, kid,” I said.
“I won’t be controlled.”
I closed my eyes. When I opened them again I was grinning.
“You’re right,” I told my younger self. “You can’t be tamed. Not even as an adult. Trust me, you’re gonna be reminded of that a lot. You got power, kid, but I’m the real Erik Ashendale.”
“Scarred and broken,” Younger Me sneered.
I braced myself.
Wrath wasn’t going to be defeated by some loving words, that much Younger Me had right. I was angry and that was just who I was at that stage.
But there are other ways to kill a parasite.
Like, for example, overfeeding it.
So I picked the sorest subject I could think of, the worst things I did in my life, the shit I regretted for years to come.
“At least I’m not some pussy who ran away when his sister needed him the most.”
Young Erik’s rage doubled. He screamed and stomped his feet, but he could not touch me. Wrath grew, now the size of a bus looming over him.
“Look at you,” I pressed on. “You would have never survived Envy’s island. Greede would have stomped you by now. You’re a powerless child, and the only thing you know how to do is take out your anger on shit that doesn’t matter.”
The tick now pressed over Younger Me, its mass too large to remain ethereal. Its ugly chitinous head scraped the ceiling. Six spindly legs stabbed craters and rivets into the ground, destroying tables and shelves.
A strand of black goopy substance linked its thorax to Young Erik’s back, as the kid was thrown on the ground, writhing in agony.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I told the creature. “The dumb human just gave you more power. But you keep forgetting one thing: unlike that kid, this Erik is not alone. Anael, now!”
The sky parted and rays of light exploded. Wrath screeched as its doom loomed from above.
Meanwhile I felt something warm and solid in my right hand. Anael’s cruciform spear appeared, light yet sturdy with its sharp blade gleaming under the light.
I swung it around, slicing through the goop that bound Wrath to my younger self. Angelic magic cleaved the Sin’s essence with frightening ease.
Anael herself descended from the sky, wings flaring.
“Catch,” I yelled throwing her the spear.
She dodged and caught her weapon by the shaft.
“Fear me, Sin of Wrath, for I am your bane!” she screamed, stabbing the spear into the tick monster’s back. The blade sunk two feet into the Sin and hooked it.
Anael flared her wings, her magic exploding like a supernova as she dragged Wrath into the light beyond.
I knelt down next to my younger self, just as the world around me began dissolving.
But I had to tell him something, something that would have changed everything for me if someone had taken the time to say it to me.
Maybe it was too late now, but I had to say it either way.
“We only got a few seconds,”
I told him, as I stroked his hair. “Look, kid, we’re fucked either way. Life won’t get much better, and the struggle is real.” I looked him in the eyes and smiled. “But I want you to know, we turned out okay. Despite all the shit, we’re gonna be okay.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“So, please, I know it will be hard,” I said, “but try to be happy.” I smiled as I remembered what Anael had told me moments earlier. “We deserve that much at least.”
Small hands hugged me back. They were cold as ice.
I pulled back and before me was not my younger self, but a vaguely humanoid creature, like a glowing blue blob that was shaped like a person.
“Thank you,” the creature said, in the most child-like voice I ever heard. It sniffed and sobbed, and barely got out its next words. “Your kind words mean so much to me.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
The creature shook its head.
“I have longed to meet you, but our time has not yet come. Our paths shall cross again.”
It sniffled and chuckled, and I could barely make out a smile on its amorphous face.
“But for now, you must go,” it said. “You have to go and be a hero now, Father.”
Chapter 33
The real world greeted me again. Everyone was staring at me. I looked down at my hands.
Human. Dark wisps of black smoke billowed from the edges of my person, darkening my aura, but I was more or less human again.
Anael’s hand rested on my shoulder.
“Welcome back,” she said. “You did not come alone.”
She nodded in front of me.
A mass of writhing limbs and spindly legs grew in front of me. Wrath’s insect-like body twisted and curled on itself, and started to take on a familiar shape.
The Knightmare formed, its eyes glowing red with hatred and rage. It held its sword in both hands and raised it in a salute of sorts.
“How shall we engage it?” Gil asked.
She, Abi, and Amaymon were ready to take on the Knightmare. I held my hand out.
“You don’t,” I said. “That’s me in there. My essence. That thing is both me and the Sin. Which makes this my battle, Gil.” I turned to look at her. “You go track down Greede. Don’t let him escape.”
“He’s beyond my reach now,” she said, irritated.
The Knightmare growled. I saw Abi’s grip tighten around her staff.
“Don’t,” I told her.
“He is right,” Anael added. “This is Erik’s battle. If he defeats the Knightmare, the Sin will be at its most vulnerable.”
She reached behind her and presented a shortsword to me.
My shortsword.
I grabbed Djinn’s handle and reached out for the spirit inside.
“I know you and I had some issues,” I murmured, ignoring the stares from the others. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. Just fight by my side one last time.”
The spirit inside pulsed—which I took to mean ‘yes’ in Jinn—and the blade glowed blue.
A small light flared from within the circular guard, a ball of luminescence the size of a marble.
I looked at Anael. “Is that what I think it is?”
She nodded. “A part of my Virtue. My Grace. Use it well, Erik Ashendale.”
I nodded. “Everyone step back. We only get one shot at this.”
The Knightmare growled again as everyone retreated and I stepped forward. With every step, I closed my eyes and reached down.
Down to the deepest parts of my essence. Anael’s little trip down memory lane had done more than make me confront my younger self. It had torn open some doors, broken down some barriers, and soon I was in a different reality, one that existed solely in my head.
A reality with red sands and red skies, and a large black tree that grew in the middle.
A man made out of obsidian and fire walked out.
“So you have come,” he said. Dark Erik cocked his head. “You see me for what I am.”
“I do.”
“Then what am I, Erik Ashendale?” he asked.
I looked at the tree. “You are me. My powers.” I looked at Dark Erik. “You are the Gatekeeper. The imaginary friend. The guardian. The grey-bearded wizard who has all the answers.”
His chuckle sounded like granite being broken.
“Do you know why this plane is called Ashura? It is a version of hell, one found in Hindu myth, referencing power-seeking creatures who waged war against their divine masters. Very fitting for who you are, Erik Ashendale.”
He stepped towards me until we were inches from one another.
“Yes,” he said. “I am you. But I am my own creature, one you have yet to discover. Heed the words of the Wolf, human. Find me. Find the Nexus.”
“You are my curse,” I said, figuring it out. “The curse is a living thing.”
“No. Not the curse,” Dark Erik said. “But the creature that bestowed it upon the first of the Ashendale Warlocks. I am still alive. And I am waiting.”
He stepped back, until he reached the tree, and dissolved within it.
“But you and your sister are yet too young to learn such secrets. You require your human powers, and thus you shall have them. But bear warning, human. Such an overload will likely burn you out. Are you ready to accept the risk?”
“What risk?”
The tree shook.
“Your magic. Are you ready to lose it, forever?”
“Bullshit.”
“Your system will overload,” the tree repeated. “Your mortal flesh will not burn but your spiritual one will. The toll will be too high.”
I squeezed Djinn’s handle.
I couldn’t lose my magic. I was nothing without my powers, limited as they were. I was a wizard, that was who I was as a human.
And then I remembered what Anael had told me.
Could I be someone else? Could I live without magic, away from all this?
I watched red sand quake under my boots as I kicked it.
“I have no choice, do I?”
“The Knightmare is too strong. It has your powers,” the tree said, “yet it is unburdened by your limitations. You must overcome these in order to take back what is yours.”
I inhaled, taking in a deep breath. This was it, then. This was the hill I die on.
So fucking be it.
“Tell me how,” I said.
“Name me,” the tree said. “Your power requires a name. Dark Erik is a crude denomination. A name, mortal. That is the key to the chain that binds you.”
Unshackle the chains that bind your mind—wasn’t that what Ubatu had said?
Djinn pulsed in my hands. A memory flashed through my head. It was something small, almost insignificant.
Gil and I were back in my Dad’s study one day, when she had discovered a book. The Epic of Gilgamesh. It was the story of two men, one a king, the other a wild man, both of whom shared the same divinity.
Brothers, yet opposite.
The opposite sides of god.
My father told us that was one of our mother’s favorite stories. She even told him that were she to ever have a child, she would consider Gilgamesh a royal name for an Ashendale.
My mother wasn’t there to name us, but Gil was given that name in her honor. I was named after one of our ancestors from my father’s side.
But now that I thought about it, didn’t Erik sound a little like the second protagonist?
I smiled and looked at the tree.
It knew. Power exploded from it, shattering this reality and hurling me through a vortex of magic.
I felt… something snap inside of me, and magic came rushing in. It felt right, it felt as if I was back in my happiest moments.
It felt as everything was going to be okay.
“Say it, mortal. Unshackle yourself,” Dark Erik’s voice roared over the rush of power. “Name me.”
I opened my eyes, seeing a thousand realities merge into one, hearing and feeling magic in
its rawest form, and focused on the one word which solidified all that power into me.
“ENKIDU!”
Chapter 34
The massive explosion of power threw the Knightmare against a wall and held him there. Mortar and stone cracked under the pressure and only when I paused to breathe did it let up.
I was still human, no shadows or armor. I simply did not need it. Instead, a black aura rose from my body, billowing around me, an exact replica of Gil’s white smoke.
“Erik,” she whispered. “Are you…?”
I managed a nod. “Yeah. I’m whole again.”
The Knightmare roared.
“But he won’t be. Not for long.”
The Knightmare raised its sword and lunged. I snapped my palm. A wall of air slammed into it, sending the armored creature careening. It spun and slashed, a beam of energy streaking towards me.
I did the same thing with Djinn. My azure streak swallowed his and slammed him back into the wall.
“You’re just a cheap imitation,” I said. “Now burn, bitch.”
I raised my left hand and chopped the empty air. Fire roared and streaked towards him, roaring and raging as it charred stone and fried the Knightmare.
He burst from the flames and our swords clashed. He swung wildly. I deflected, sparks raining down from where our weapons made contact. The Knightmare swung around nimbly, trying to knock my weapon aside and make my flank vulnerable…
I teleported a few steps away, stepping and pulling at the fabric of space. I flew a few feet in the air and trailed an arc over my head with Djinn. Eight sigils appeared, each glowing purple. A beam of light shot from each.
“Sweet,” I muttered.
I swung the sword down, and the sigils went into machine-gun mode. The Knightmare ran, and I trailed him, rapid-fire beams of light hot on his trail.
Magic flared to the side, and I saw Gil, Amaymon, and Anael erect magic shields against my magic.
“Let’s take this outside,” I said.
I slammed down on the ground and channeled magic into what I would later on refer to as an Amaymon Special. The ground rolled and two fists of earth punched into the Knightmare, lifting him off his feet and high into the ceiling.
