I lashed out. Black lightning arced off my fingertips to strike the cliff, leaving a smoking hole in the deep shadows of the corner. I had heard a loud snap, and turned to see if I had imagined it.
How were you able to strike the wall, Maal? teased Tawny, as if she knew the answer.
The ability was familiar for a moment, but the knowledge vanished before I could bring it into focus. Staring at my shadowy fingers, I wondered at the source of the black lightning, and whether it could be repeated. After all, I had used it unwittingly to awaken Jil, prior to Tchurn’s sword strike.
I could not re-create the spark. The sensation was not something I could replicate, despite several attempts. I wondered if it required some sort of fuel, but could think of naught. I wanted to be able to summon that lightning on command!
Hate rose within me, as my frustration increased. I enacted a wide variety of ridiculous motions: flung arms, squeezed fists, pointed fingers at the wall and said “Scorch!” All to no avail.
My Hate climbed with frustration as its companion, and suddenly my fingers were sparking. Holding them up before me, I could watch the sparks spiral around my ghostly palms, and individual digits. Pleased that I had summoned them forth, my Hate subsided.
The sparks vanished.
“No!” I repeated my foolish gestures, not realizing the connection until my Hate rose again. When the sparks appeared the second time, I knew it was Hate that had summoned them.
I hurled my Hate at the wall, and black lightning flung from my hand. A soft snap echoed through the bar as a chunk of wood exploded off the ruined table. No black-haired uXulu rose their head to investigate.
I felt tired after the hurled spark, but refused to let such weakness demote my evening to passive boredom. I fueled my sparks with all the frustration that had built up since arriving in this decrepit place. I fed them with Hate as I grunted with a low, quiet fury.
Again, I shot lightning, and shattered another chunk of wood. Again, and again, destroying what remained of the the broken table. Jil was weak, like this crippled table! I hurled my Hatred upon the table, shredding off tiny pieces. I could not fuck eXiaxana! Splinters flew. I could not prevent Jil’s emotions from controlling me! A chunk of wood cracked off. All of my frustrations were released in cathartic sparks of dark lightning.
There was a wavering in my vision, a change to my environment. The bar seemed to fade, become transparent, as images of something else replaced them. The bar became solid again, then faded once more, juxtaposed with images of… of… what were they?
No matter. I would not succumb to weakness again! With this black lightning I would free eXiaxana, bring Jil to her knees, and force Tchurn to yield his secrets. I cackled as I blasted another chunk of table off.
The smell hit me first. The stench of entrails mixed with the smoke of the fireplaces. I brought my hand up to cover my mouth, believing vomit was imminent. Nothing came forth, yet the sensation only worsened. I became desperate to expel, with no way to do so. I flung more lightning, my only form of release. Finally, a release!
In the shadowy darkness of the bar, there were figures. Figures digging urgently, throwing objects out of the way as they searched. In a brief moment, when the bar had faded again, one of the tossed shapes looked like a leg.
No. Not them.
The creature closest to me turned its head, then faded away. When next it became visible, it had stood up, and it gnashed its teeth at me. Its stretched mouth produced the awful screech I would never forget. All the other creatures stood up and turned to face me, like a pack of animals.
I flung black lightning at one of them, as Fear burst from my mouth in pathetic noises.
Everything snapped into place: the tops of hills, the smooth-helmeted figures, and the horrible monument behind them:
The Nail.
T h e N a i l
The comfort of the Inn had led me to believe in the safety of it. The longer I stayed between its tall cliffs, eager belief mounted in the hope The Nail had been left behind. Complacence now led to horror.
The creatures nearby seemed to have lost my direction for a moment. Now they snapped their sightless helmets at me, and their horrific, painful screeches drew the attention of the rest.
I was frozen from shock. My mind could not process that I could truly be here, but the still, humid air sucked to my skin, the smell of death invaded my nose, and the terrifying monument imposed upon my eyes, leaving no trace of Jedd’s bar, it’s dry, wafty air, it’s smell of burning wood, nor it’s deep shadows.
Run! cried Amber.
I pushed off the invisible wall... that was not there. I floated nowhere, looked down, and saw my feet standing upon mangled, white body parts.
The creatures charged, screaming in exultation. The closest tackled me in the chest, at the same moment something struck me from behind in the head. There was a massive spike of pain at the base of my skull, and then darkness.
A moment later, I was gasping for air. Smothered, crushed in the dark.
I made a pathetic noise out of panic, while Carmine laughed.
Dig, you fool, said Indigo.
“Where am I?” I cried.
How can he not remember? asked Tawny.
You have been killed again, said Cerulean, bored.
I found purchase on slimy objects, whose surfaces yielded to a desperate squeeze, and moved them aside. Others I pulled toward me, but protrusions scraped my face and chest as I created a small space. A few collapsed upon the space, and I the sensation of suffocation mounted. I shoved with fervor, and a group of them fell away. Several more mighty heaves produced an opening, and I could see again.
I was surrounded by—no, buried in—body parts. The nearest one was of a head, its jaw obliterated. Dead eyes watched me, uncaring.
The corpses clung to me as I dug my way out, catching on the hooks along my arms, sticking to my lengthy hair, hampering my every effort. When I was free from the tomb of dismembered victims, I collapsed upon the slope. My throat was dry from exertion, but a swallow brought no relief as I gasped for air. I was in a valley between two hills of corpses. Over one hill I spied the ominous Nail.
“No,” I whispered.
Yes, said Viridian, giggling.
I do not like being killed again and again! cried Amber.
Then beg Maal to overcome his weaknesses, said Indigo.
Or watch him fail again and again, as he has always done, said Carmine.
“They.... killed me?” I whimpered.
Shhh! whispered Amber.
I lay still, panting, but suppressed the noise of gasping. I could hear it, then.
Distant screeching.
I rolled over onto my hands and knees and began crawling. Sobs and whimpers escaped, despite my Hatred of them. Heavy tears, which I insist I did not summon.
Tears never stopped them, said Cerulean.
Neither did crawling, said a disgusted Indigo.
Perhaps he could try laughing at them? said Tawny.
Or he could masturbate, said Magenta.
Without a cock? asked Tawny.
They laughed, a cacophony of mockery.
As I cried from terror and expectations of pain, they laughed. At my misery and sheer Anguish, they laughed. It was deserved. Such weakness should invite only condescension.
Where are you going, Maal? asked Tawny.
You can not escape them, said Cerulean.
They always find us! cried Amber.
There was a loud screech, close by. Over the hill, perhaps.
My Anguish and Fear soared, as I recalled how they had assaulted me. Unreasoning Hate, like animals. I knew there was no way to communicate with them, ask for respite, or truce. They wanted only one thing.
The ocean depths stirred.
HATE, boomed Obsidian.
“No.” Yet another whimper.
A louder screech, and I turned to look over my shoulder in time to see a creature crest the hill. It had not yet spotted me.
Useless, pathetic sobs escaped. I could not control them.
Such are the frailties of flesh when the mind is weak, said Carmine.
Darkness blossomed in the ocean of insanity.
RAGE, boomed Obsidian.
“Do not let him take me,” I said between sobs.
Why do you Fear him? asked Tawny.
He will take care of us, said Amber, happily.
He is stronger than you, said Indigo.
Far stronger, said Carmine.
The creature screeched with horrible volume, three times. I could hear answering noises, near and far.
I heard the creature’s feet as it charged down the hill. I curled into a ball.
The darkness in the ocean roared to the surface, as I was submerged into its depths.
DESTRUCTION, boomed Obsidian.
M A A L
When I burst from the ocean, I was giggling. I did not know why.
There was PAIN.
My left leg was in ruins. Shattered bone, shredded muscle, and dripping blood were all that remained. My left arm had been crudely severed at the bicep, with pieces of flesh and vein still dangling from the stump. I could not tell if it was nearby—all the body parts looked the same. Puncture-marks dotted my body, a constellation of agony. Perhaps I could find some symbolism in them, and I giggled again.
I was leaning—no, I was propped up against the enormous double-bladed axe, upside-down again. Where had I retrieved it from? The stump of my left leg had been pressed onto one of the points of the upside axe-blade, and even slight movement created terrible slices of pain from inside the thigh.
Something sloughed off my face and fell onto the corpses with a wet splat. Tears of pain might have accompanied it.
The ground shuddered, and Fear brought my gaze up toward the vile structure, part of it still teetering away from the cataclysm that had cracked it open. My breath was already rapid, and my body was covered in slimy sweat, but The Nail pushed my body to even higher stress, Fearing what might happen.
No boils formed; there was still time. I looked for the beam of light, and saw it still streaming from the sky. Its termination was on the opposite side of the base of The Nail, not far, but it was obscured by the monument. I was only a hill away.
Without hesitation, I yanked my ruined leg off the axe and fell down the slope. Pain blossomed across my body as the body parts provided a landing of sharp bones. Tears began to drip from my eyes, another uncontrollable response from my pathetic form. My left arm was useless, and putting weight upon my left stump was an agony so great it almost pushed my mind to darkness.
Despite these impediments, I finished my descent and fucking climbed the only barrier: one single hill of corpses. It took far longer than I desired; the slow ascent brought me to the summit of the hill in time for another shuddering. I held my breath, waiting for boils, but the tower’s surface remained flat.
Will he escape before the boils? wondered Tawny, full of excitement.
A moment of panic ensued as I thought the chasm might prevent my passage to the window, but it did not. The fissure cut its way through the landscape to my left, while the end of the beam of light ended somewhere behind The Nail to my right.
I took a couple of breaths and launched myself down the hill toward the base of the tower, reckless from desperation. The roll was dizzying, and I suffered gashes from yet more severed bone protrusions, but I made it most of the way down the hill before becoming caught on a tangle of rib cages and arms. I pushed past those, determined to make the window that must be there. My tears changed to those of hope.
He is motivated well by Fear, said Cerulean.
Motivated to run away, said Carmine.
I was nearly around The Nail when the third shudder began. I ignored it and continued my slow—too slow— one-handed crawl. Strange sucking sounds filled the air above me, growing slower and quieter as hauled along at a frantic pace. My arm shook from exhaustion, and my lungs burned. My breath was constant panting.
The first blob fell to the ground behind me with a loud splat, applying panic to my Fear. There was no redoubling of effort; I had given this short journey every effort available. I rounded The Nail to spy the termination of the beam.
It emptied into nothing. There was no window to go through.
A horrible wail escaped my mouth, but I continued forward. Perhaps the window could be seen only from one angle?
A blob nearly crushed me, and I rolled to the right. Limping along with my laggard crawl, I soon found myself surrounded by the impact of blobs.
I was struck by one, and it crushed my left shoulder. I was blinded by pain for a moment, but pushed on, sightless, breathless and exhausted. When my sight returned, I was beyond the rain of blobs, and the beam was before me.
I could not find the window, regardless of my viewpoint.
My head slumped to the ground, shuddering in Fear and exhaustion, as I heard them stand, heard the plates click into place, and listened to the gnashing of teeth. There were great sobs now, tears and snot and awful sounds of pathetic weakness. I could not prevent them.
One of the first to form pounced upon me, rolled me over, and smashed its fist into my mouth, shattering my jaw. There was too much pain; my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I nearly passed out. I felt the onyx-plated arm dissolve into the acrid, foul liquid that poured down my throat. I sought for breath, choking and crying, swallowing against volition, and then all grew dark.
M A A L
I saw him as he emerged from the greenish mist, like a specter of doom. For the first time in my life, I knew Fear. By the gasps near and far, I was not alone in this discovery.
Maal, the Ardent of Destruction.
He stopped within sight of us, fingering his massive double-bladed axe, Sunderer. How he had created it was a mystery. The power to make new lied solely in the purview of Creation, and that Ardent would never have helped him.
It had blades of pure Destruction, able to sever anything it touched. It had runes from the Ardent of Chaos upon the grip, and we all knew she had assisted him. Those runes were said to undo the Orders of weight and form that confined all other objects to maintain their shape. As a result, the weapon was almost weightless, and allowed Maal to change Sunderer into any weapon he desired. He had been known to wear it as a glove, which could separate a head from its neck by a casual touch. As a whip, it had been rumored to cut a dozen creatures in half with one strike.
He bore his cursed armor as well, another mystery. Black plates like ours, quadruple-layered like ours, but imbued with Destruction. A mere graze of the finger would turn the careless to ash.
“At least we present enough threat that he donned his armor,” I said, sarcastically.
“Be still,” said the Fourth, to my left.
“Is it true the Ardents made themselves eternal?” asked the Sixth. His voice quavered.
“Be still,” said the First, who spoke only when matters were affecting the Point. A glance over my shoulder confirmed it. Beneath the onyx helmet which covered his upper face and head, his lips shook. “Be still,” he repeated, and put a reassuring hand upon the Point.
“How can we defeat him if he is eternal?” the Sixth implored.
I was about to speak, when the First smashed his curved shield to upper shoulders of the Sixth, knocking him to the ground.
“Be still!” he snapped. “We are the Shirahbisah: six Shields around the Point. You will not weaken us with your prattle.” The Sixth did not stand; his needle and shield lay limp upon the ground. From his knees, I could almost feel his Despair.
“Look!” I said. Maal began to walk forward. His chalk-white face, uncovered, showed no Hate, no Anguish, only a stoic set of black eyes, and sinister eyebrows. More shocking, however, was what blossomed around his head as he walked.
His black hair billowed around him.
“Someone severed his hair at the foot?” the Sixth cried. “He can never glide again!”
Even the F
irst was unsettled by this. Feet shifted, helmets turned to look about for some utterance that might convey hope. There were three hundred groups of Shirahbisah: twenty-one hundred in all. And it would not be enough.
“No,” a scratchy voice declared. “He cut his hair himself.”
A massive shape moved up to stand next to our Circle and Point. He stood twice as tall as the rest of us, his armor a match of ours in shape, but with a mighty bulk that added to his looming presence. Bright-red it was, and fashioned to perfection: no plate was out of place, even when he moved. His helmet was a tower of metal with a small slit, glowing white like his lengthy needle and long, curved shield.
“The Ardent of Order!” said the Sixth.
Maal stopped and turned toward the new arrival. “You come to oppose me directly?” Maal’s voice drew screeches from our army, each of us pressing upon our helmets to buttress them against the sound. His voice was like the wail of a mother being forced to view the body of her first child, dead by defect; the cry of a father who had accidentally murdered his own children; the terrible screams of parents forced to witness their young daughter being raped; the desperate pleadings of a new widow being presented the broken war-helmet of her truest love; the echoes of a thousand more horrors. All in one voice.
I felt Despair of an intensity incomprehensible, and fell to my knees, my mouth incapable of creating a sound which might free me of the madness that made my ears bleed.
“Be still,” said the voice of Order, his helmet flashing bright white as he spoke. “He shall not take your minds so easily.” There was Courage within it: his voice was the armor our minds needed to recover. Our helmets flashed white in response, and the maddening sound ceased its destructive echoes.
To Maal, he said: “I am here to observe.”
“You will not aid us?” cried the Sixth. No, that was the First!
“I have already done so. To provide more support might put us in direct conflict. I prefer to study him first.”
Many of us quailed. What insanity must he suffer to sever his own hair?” I whispered from my knees.
Maal The First Skull- Shadows of the Mind Page 18
