by Isaac Hooke
He sensed the pain emanating from Mauritania’s energy bundle, and felt her growing weakness keenly. She would soon bleed out. But that wasn’t what concerned him at the moment: the Darkness was swarming past her toward him, making one final rush to take him.
Some of the nightmarish extremities had already wrapped around his armor, but he darted to the side, pulling free. He sprinted along the rim of the parapet, escaping the pursuing tendrils, moving well ahead of them.
He felt momentary pain in those places where the tendrils had touched his armor, as the black veins they caused spread to the flesh underneath and disintegrated some of the surrounding tissues before vanishing.
The buzzing in his head was fading. It changed pitch slightly, sounding disappointed. He continued to run, staying close to the wide rim of the rooftop. Soon, he knew, the Darkness would retreat entirely, having lost once again, and the portal to the Black Realm would vanish until the next time Banvil decided to make an attempt.
He felt a sudden spike in pain from Mauritania. Glancing her way, he realized she had collapsed. A pool of blood expanded outward from underneath her. Overhead, the light globe formed by her magic went out.
Malem transferred stamina to her from Ziatrice and Gwen, hoping to stabilize her. Her energy bundle glowed brighter in his mind. A good sign.
Ziatrice entered his head then. You have her. I sense it. Use her army. March against the Alliance. We will crush them, and then defeat Vorgon.
But he hardly heard the words. There was someone else he wanted to defeat. Someone who had tormented him his entire life.
He glanced over his shoulder at the Darkness as he ran. The dark portal yet floated there at its heart, slowly growing smaller. Its tendrils continued to reach for him, wanting him so badly. He could sense the sheer yearning.
He wasn’t sure he was ready to face Banvil, but he had already decided he wasn’t going to wait around for the Darkness to strike again at some other inopportune time in the future. If Malem was going to do this, it would be on his terms.
By Breaking a second Black Sword, he now had the mental capacity to bind around thirty-six lesser creatures to his will. He could keep adding to his mental capacity, spending the next weeks, months or even years building himself up, but if thirty-six slots wasn’t enough to take on Banvil, somehow he doubted that seventy-two would make it any easier, or one hundred and forty-four for that matter.
No, if he wanted to do this, now was as good a time as any. Now, when at least he had the mental resolve to do it.
I won’t run. Not anymore.
He came to a stop and focused on the portal. Wanting it to take him, he willed it to enlarge. To his surprise, it actually seemed to grow bigger.
Good.
“You want me, Banvil?” Malem shouted. He thrust out his arms. “Then take me!”
What are you doing? Ziatrice sent, terrified.
The tendrils of the Dark reached him and eagerly wrapped themselves around his flesh.
No!
But Ziatrice’s voice was lost in the buzzing that consumed everything.
29
Malem felt the dark veins burning his skin as they spread across his body. Searing, disintegrating the outer layers of his armor, and the flesh just below. Those hellish tentacles lifted him into the air, and conveyed him toward the portal of night.
He thought the women bound to him were trying to tell him something. But he couldn’t hear. The buzzing, it was too loud.
The Darkness consumed everything around him, blocking all vision. The pain, it was so intense. It felt as if all of his skin had been flayed away, and all that was left was the muscle, raw and exposed, for the Darkness to devour next.
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
He could sense the triumph emanating from the malevolent entity as it hauled him into the portal. Banvil had finally fulfilled the oath sworn so long ago, when Malem was still an infant. The oath to drag him, the only child of Nailcrom, down to the Black Realm. No doubt a multitude of tortures awaited him there. Tortures that would last throughout eternity.
And then, just like that, the buzzing in his head abruptly ceased. As did the pain.
He felt a solid surface beneath his feet once more. There was sand beneath his toes—his boots were no more. He couldn’t yet see—the Darkness still enveloped him, blocking his vision. He heard a scraping sound, as of a blade being drawn, or sheathed.
He still felt the five women bound to him in his head. The monsters were there, too, but they seemed even less substantial. All of them, women and monsters alike, were distant, but even so their presence was somehow reassuring, and reminded him that he wasn’t truly alone. More importantly, their presence meant he still had the boost in his abilities that their Breaking provided him with.
Abigail? Gwen?
They didn’t answer, unsurprisingly.
He tried to move, but the Darkness still bound him. But why wasn’t it harming him anymore?
He was most likely in the underworld at the moment. He theorized that perhaps the tendrils of the night had been disintegrating his body, bringing it here piece by piece in a process that would have killed him had he allowed it to continue to fruition. But now that he had arrived fully, surrendering to the Dark, there was nowhere to disintegrate his individual parts to, so instead the black veins dissipated harmlessly upon touching his flesh.
Suddenly, the Darkness pulled away from him, revealing a land he had seen only once before, when Vorgon had attempted to seize control of him after he’d Broken Ziatrice. He stood amidst a desert of black dunes. The sky was starless above, and completely black, though twilight lit the land.
He was completely naked, his armor eaten away by the Darkness. His sword was the only thing that had survived the traversal—Balethorn lay partially embedded, blade-first in the sand beside him. So that was the sheathing sound he’d heard upon arrival.
The tendrils of Darkness floated beside him, trailing away into the night. He followed them with his eyes to their source, where a colossal form loomed nearby. It was a Balor, a being of shadow, roughly humanoid in shape, its body outlined by the red flames that burned along its peripheries. It stood on two backward-bending legs, and had a barrel-shaped torso with two muscular arms. Wings jutted from its back, flexed, and partially unfurled. Its head reminded him of a bull, complete with a pair of large curving horns. A long tail undulated back and forth eagerly behind the demon.
Banvil.
The Balor wielded a fiery sword in one hand, and held the ribbon of Darkness in the other. It flung that Darkness toward him, as if striking with a big whip.
Malem reached out defensively, and discovered he could sense not only the Balor, but the whip of Darkness itself, as if both were separate, individual entities. He tried to grab onto the latter with his mind, wrapping his will around it, and was surprised when it Broke beneath him. He felt its alien consciousness expand into his mind, filling up four empty slots.
Well, that’s new.
“The Darkness is mine, now,” he said quietly.
He twisted the Dark before it could strike him, and turned it back upon itself. Then he thrust it toward Banvil.
The Balor stepped back in surprise, but was too slow, and the Darkness struck; the creature roared in pain. Malem tore it free of the demon’s grasp and wound the Dark around Banvil’s neck like a noose, and tightened it.
More streams of Darkness emerged from its chest, heading toward him.
I control the Darkness.
Malem batted the streams aside with the sheer force of his will. In his mind, they were considered part of the same Dark entity he had already Broken, so he was able to take control of them all, and he combined them into the original Darkness, thickening the noose. The Balor quickly learned its lesson, and no longer launched any further ribbons of night his way.
Malem attempted to wrap his will around the Balor at the same time he tightened that noose. Incredibly, his touch didn’t evaporate, and he was able t
o take hold of the creature’s mind. He suspected it had something to do with the link he shared with the creature. That, and the newfound power granted to him after Breaking Mauritania, because he doubted the noose had done enough damage yet.
“You dare touch me?” the Balor rumbled, seeming unaffected by the Dark noose around its neck.
The sword came swinging down. Malem scooped up Balethorn and dodged to the side, naked, as the large, fiery edge plunged into the sand beside him.
Malem squeezed his will, tightly, but the Balor writhed beneath him, wrapping its own will around his like a python entwining the hand of the fool that decided to pick it up. He felt the wicked presence enter his head, and attempt to crush his will. He fought against it, squeezing tighter with his own will.
That sword came slicing down again, distracting him. He leaped away, and nearly lost the duel of wills when the fist around his mind tightened unexpectedly. He barely managed to squeeze free. If he hadn’t recently Broken Mauritania, he doubted he would have had the strength for it.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to engage Banvil so soon. He had been so confident after Breaking the latest Black Sword, so sure of himself. But now all that surety was fast fading. He should have waited until he had Broken more half monsters. It had been foolish, perhaps even reckless to leap into the portal when he had. A moment of impatience had ruined a lifetime of self-restraint. Yes, he had waited his whole life for this. Surely he could have waited a few months or years more?
Too late now.
The whip of Darkness still enclosed the Balor’s neck like some deadly scarf, and Malem unwound it then. Instead, he swirled it around the sword, just above the hilt, and yanked, tearing the weapon free of the demon’s hold. But the Darkness was too weak to lift the heavy blade and use it as an actual weapon, and could only let the blade droop downward.
Banvil lurched forward, attempting to snatch the weapon free, but Malem pulled it away with his mind. The demon turned toward him, next, and strove to trample him.
Malem leaped to the right, then the left, then the right again, those big feet thudding down into the sand beside him. He attempted to strike at one of the black heels with Balethorn, but the magic weapon simply bounced away.
A clawed hand reached down and attempted to scoop him up.
He leaped, landing on the downward slope of the dune, and descended in big, bounding steps. Each time his feet hit the loose sand, he slid down across the dune for several paces before he could find enough purchase to take another step.
Banvil followed close behind him.
Malem continued fighting the evil presence in his mind, and strove to dominate that entity in turn.
He sent the Darkness, and the sword it carried, spiraling upward, away from the battlefield. He positioned it between himself and the pursuing Balor. When Banvil, intent on pursuit, raced beneath the blade, Malem had the Darkness release it like a guillotine, and the sword plunged into the demon from above.
Banvil howled as the fiery weapon penetrated its back, passing deep into its torso and partially severing a wing in the process.
Malem’s hold on the Darkness and distant monsters wavered, as did his permanent connections to the women he had Broken. So much so, that for a moment he thought he was going to lose his powers. Had he delivered too severe a blow to the Balor? A killing blow?
But then his connection to the women strengthened anew, as did his grip on the Darkness.
Instantly, the ethereal fingers composing the fist of his will crushed together, and Banvil was his.
As the creature’s presence expanded into his mind, Malem quickly released the three monsters under his control. He also had to release the Darkness. For a moment, he thought that even thirty-six slots wouldn’t be enough to hold the Balor’s consciousness, but then finally the mental expansion ceased. He had maybe one or two slots to spare, he thought.
So, Breaking and holding Banvil required almost all of his current mental capacity. He tried re-Breaking the Darkness to add to his mental repertoire, but he didn’t have enough room, so he released it, and the Dark slowly dissipated.
It was a mistake to try conquering the Darkness again, because he hadn’t realized how much Breaking the Balor had taken out of him. Winded, he had to sit down in the sand. He felt extremely faint.
Beside him, Banvil remained motionless for several moments, slumped upon the dunes. Pain erupted from its energy bundle in terrible waves. Black blood poured from the wound in its back, down its skin, and trickled onto the sand below, which it dissolved like acid, sending up tiny plumes of smoke.
After a moment, Malem began to feel a little better, but then Banvil abruptly shifted: the creature reached behind its back, wrapping its hands around the hilt of the protruding blade, and tore it free with a roar of pain.
The flames were muted on the sword where the metal had plunged into the demon’s torso, thanks to the blood soaking the steel; but that sanguine fluid quickly boiled away and the fires sprouted anew.
When that happened, the Balor turned the weapon on Malem.
But it could not strike. Its hands shook as it tried to subvert his will. Its mind struggled within his grasp, lurching back and forth, laboring to break free. Malem had trouble hanging on, considering he was already drained from the Breaking, and maintaining his hold on the Balor only taxed him even further.
There was no one else to take stamina from, no one except the Balor itself.
He grinned maliciously. “Let’s see how much fight you have left when all your strength is gone.”
He tried to leech vitality from Banvil, but to his surprise, it didn’t work.
His smile quickly faded.
He strove again for that vitality he could sense inside the demon, but still couldn’t access it. He couldn’t understand it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact his power was intrinsically linked to the demon.
The creature continued to thrash about in his mind, draining him. In a few moments, when his strength failed, he would release Banvil whether he wanted to or not.
“Stop fighting me, I command you,” he sent.
Banvil ignored him. That sword shook even more violently above him.
Stop!
But Banvil refused to obey.
Malem reached the limits of his strength, and was about to release the demon, when all at once it ceased its struggles, and slumped, sitting heavily on the sand and letting the sword fall from its grasp. He realized that fighting him had been just as draining on the Balor as it had been to Malem.
He had won the duel of wills. For the moment. He sensed the pain slowly ebbing within the Balor’s energy bundle, and realized Banvil was gradually healing. When its wound was fully mended, Malem doubted he would be able to restrain the creature any longer.
“You have won,” Banvil said, its terrible voice full of defeat.
“And I will beat Vorgon the same way,” Malem declared.
“You cannot,” the Balor told him. "We are intricately linked, you and I. You have a part of my dark power inside you. You can touch my mind without preamble, as I can touch yours. Vorgon has no such bane. You will never touch his mind. It’s simply not possible. And when his Darkness comes for you, there will be no escape. You won’t be able to wrest control as you did with mine. His Darkness will simply dissolve you, allowing him to disintegrate your will, and mold you into one of his generals.”
“Then you will fight him for me,” Malem said simply.
“Me?” Banvil scoffed. “Why should I?”
“Because you are mine now, and I wish it,” Malem said. “I’ve bound you…”
“Do you truly believe you can retain that hold on me?” Banvil said.
As if to show him how weak his grasp was, the Balor’s will bucked against his own, and Malem nearly lost the creature.
“You are rivals, are you not?” Malem asked. “Vorgon and yourself?” When Banvil didn’t answer, he pressed: “I know you are. You protected me from his mental attack.”
Still Banvil refused to speak, so Malem tightened his will, compelling the creature to comply.
The demon stiffened slightly, and for a moment he worried it would attempt to break free again, but then it obeyed, apparently too weary to make another go at escape. “I protected you because if Vorgon Broke you, I would be his, too. Owing to your link to me, I would become his tool in the Black Realm, ready to obey his every command.”
Malem studied the fire-silhouetted creature. “You opened the way for him to enter my realm?”
“He stole from me the ability to enter your realm, yes,” Banvil said. “When I returned after Nailcrom’s banishing, I was weak, recovering my strength. Vorgon took advantage of my condition to attack. I barely survived the ensuing battle. When I finally recovered my strength fully, I found I only had the power to reach your world sporadically. I could not enter fully, either, as you know. Or you would have faced me long ago.”
“So fight Vorgon, then,” Malem said. “Take back this power the beast stole.”
Banvil shook its massive head. “Even if I defeat Vorgon, the power will not be mine. Once lost, it cannot be returned. At least, I know of no way.”
“Then defeat Vorgon to show the other Balors you are not one to be crossed,” Malem said.
Banvil surprised him then, and lifted its head to emit a wild cackle. When it had recovered, the demon said: “I don’t care what the other Balors think about me. We haven’t interacted in years. And likely won’t for many to come. We have our own sub-realms here in the Black Realm.”
“You say you don’t have the power to enter my world?” Malem said. “What if I could bring you?”
The Balor narrowed its night-black eyes. “How?”
“Create a portal to my realm,” Malem said.
Banvil cocked its head in amusement, then apparently decide to indulge him, because a swirling pool of infinite darkness appeared beside him. Malem could feel the significant drain on the creature’s energy bundle the opening caused, and that only allowed him to tighten his grip on the Balor even further.
