Cold wind lashed at his face.
Mazael walked alongside a churning river of blood, a spray of fine droplets coating its banks with a gleaming crimson coat.
The wind howled, bringing the sound of screaming voices to his ears. Mazael's eyes followed the road to the looming bleak towers of Castle Cravenlock. The screams pleased him. They belonged to him. He would tear them from the grasp of others and make them his own. Mazael strode towards Castle Cravenlock, intending to claim it.
Something thumped against his leg, and his glance down. Lion hung from his belt in its usual place, but a strange symbol dangling from a length of chain besides it. He reached for it, but the symbol burned his fingers. He hissed and nearly threw it to the ground, but the pain faded, and he held the symbol before his eyes. It was made of three interlocking steel rings joined together in a triangular shape. Something about the symbol made him feel ill.
The screams rose from the castle, but now they filled him with revulsion.
“So torn. But it will be resolved soon.”
Lord Adalon stood on the bank of the crimson river, its splashing waves splattering his robe with blood. He held his staff in both hands, the silver raven at its top gleaming.
“How you fight with yourself!” said Lord Adalon. Red light gleamed in the depths of his green eyes. “But that is what you do. Fight. Battle. And in the end, conquer.”
Mazael looked at his father, fighting a sudden sense of terrible dread.
“But why do you fight yourself?” said Lord Adalon. “The rage, the fury...the power, are they truly your enemies? You resist them. Yet they can make you over, make you greater, if you just give into them.”
Mazael stared at Lord Adalon’s gaunt face, his red-shot green eyes, and his twisted and yellowed teeth. “Who are you?”
Lord Adalon laughed. “You know, do you not? I am your father.”
“No,” said Mazael. “No. My father has been dead for ten years. He wouldn’t have come back. He didn’t have the courage.”
“Such small faith,” said Lord Adalon. “Think of me as your guide, then.”
“Guide?” said Mazael. “To what?”
“To your fate,” said Lord Adalon. “To your destiny.”
“You sound like Romaria,” said Mazael. Who was Romaria? He could not remember.
Lord Adalon laughed. “I think not. She would keep you as a sheep, docile and plodding, just as all the other cattle that wander the world. But I can show you a better way, my son. You’re growing stronger, aren’t you? More of your nature has come to the surface. You couldn’t question me here otherwise. The time soon comes when you will have to make a choice.”
“Choice?” said Mazael. “Between what?”
Lord Adalon beckoned with a bony hand. “I shall show you. Come.”
Mazael backed away, his hand clutching the metal symbol, as if it could protect him from this creature that called itself his father. “No. You’re a liar.”
Lord Adalon’s eyes flashed with crimson fire. “I, a liar? I, who have labored to show you the truth of who you are, what you are? I, who am so much older than you, so much wiser, so much stronger? I, who could crush you like a gnat?” His eyes burned red, icy winds whipping over the plain.
“What are you?” said Mazael.
Lord Adalon blinked, and the decay vanished from his features, his eyes becoming green and bloodshot once more. “I am disappointed. I see you still believe those lies the fat wizard and the old knight wove into you. Very well. Let me show what awaits you. You shall soon have an opportunity that few mortals ever have. You shall have the chance to make yourself over, to become something more than mortal.”
“I don’t want it,” said Mazael. “I’ve never wanted it.”
Lord Adalon laughed. “Have you? You’ve always wanted power, my son, whether you will admit it or not. You reveled in the power of killing. You enjoyed it. And now the Dragonslayer has made you Lord of Castle Cravenlock. More power.”
“No,” said Mazael. “I took it because I had to...”
“Because you wanted to!” said Lord Adalon. “More power in your fist. So much more lies before you. All you have to do is reach out and take it! But if you refuse, this is what lies before you!”
He raised his staff high and rammed its butt into the earth. The world spun around Mazael, and everything disappeared in a blazing red glow.
He felt a railing of nicked wood beneath his hand. He stood on the balcony of Castle Cravenlock’s decrepit chapel, the only light coming from a pair of lanterns on the altar.
“I’ve been here before,” said Mazael. He struggled to remember. “You’ve taken me here before.”
“Most perceptive,” said Lord Adalon. He kicked aside a piece of a rotted pew. “Dust, ashes, and decay. Is this what you choose for yourself? Death, in the end? You have the power to become a demigod among the witless sheep that are men. Why do you refuse?”
The symbol fell from Mazael’s fingers, swinging on its chain and bouncing against his leg. “Because...is it not power. It is corruption.”
“Corruption?” said Lord Adalon. “You don’t really think that, do you? You know better.”
“No,” said Mazael. “I...”
Lord Adalon smiled. “Let’s take a look, shall we? Let us see what will happen if you reject this ‘corruption’”.
He clenched his fist, and the red glow shining through the chapel’s stained glass-windows brightened, bathing everything in crimson radiance.
Lord Adalon lowered his fist. “Let’s meet some old friends.”
Mazael heard a footstep.
Rachel stepped out of the shadows, clad in a long black robe with embroidered serpents twisting up the slaves. A golden crown of snakes rested on her head, and crimson runes marked her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes were yellow and slit with vertical black pupils.
“Mazael,” she whispered. Twin fangs protruded from her lips, dripping with greenish fluid. “Come here.”
Mazael’s hand shot to his sword hilt and banged against his hip. His sword was gone. Rachel laughed and lunged for him.
“Isn’t that a shame?” said Lord Adalon. “She’s going to kill you. A pity you surrendered your power. You could have destroyed her so easily, otherwise.”
A drop of venom trickled down Rachel’s chin.
Lord Adalon leaned against the railing. “You may want to duck.”
Mazael heard a snarl behind his shoulder, and dodged just as a dagger slashed through the air. Mitor lurched towards him, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl of hatred. A dagger trembled in his hand, the razor edges gleaming in the crimson light.
“Isn’t he miserable, my boy?” said Lord Adalon. “Why don’t you tear him apart? He’s weak and slow. Oh, yes, that’s right. You don’t want the power. But what you refuse, others will take.”
Rachel hissed and lunged, venom falling in a hissing rain to the floor. Mitor stabbed at him, the dagger’s edges cutting air. Mazael groped for his sword, his dagger...but they were not there.
“Isn’t it remarkable how much they hate you?” said Lord Adalon. “And for what? Their pathetic little scraps of power?” He waved his hand at the domed ceiling. “This old heap of a castle? What would they give, I wonder, to have the sort of power you so freely reject? They will kill you to defend their wretched lives. What would they do to take what you have?”
Mazael tried to dodge, but Mitor's dagger plunged into his shoulder. He screamed and fell to one knee. Mitor howled with glee. his arm pumping, stabbing Mazael in the back again and again.
“Poor Mazael,” said Rachel. “You should have listened.”
Her teeth plunged into his forearm.
The pain exploded through his veins, the agony forcing him to his feet. He smelled smoke rising from the poisoned wounds as his arm shriveled. Rachel laughed, a mixture of his blood and her venom smeared across her lips. Mazael tried to move, but could not.
“Poor brother,” Rachel cooed. She kissed him on the cheek, and the pois
on sizzled into his beard and burned through his skin. “You should have listened to me.”
Mitor plunged his dagger into Mazael’s chest. The force of the blow sent him tumbling over the railing. He screamed, their laughter filling his ears.
He hit the chapel floor, and everything went black.
Demonsouled Page 39
