Tarrin turned and found himself facing the brunette female, the one that had rammed him. She held her black-bladed sword lightly in her hand, and her wings shivered in anticipation in the wide hallway. She gave him a light, almost amused look. I'm impressed you got this far. You must be very tired, with all the fireworks I saw outside. And all the blood all over you.
"Not tired enough for you," Tarrin snarled, raising his sword.
At first, she just stood there, but then her eyes widened in shock, and she took a step back from him in surprise. He had the feeling that she had probably just tried to use some kind of magic, and it had failed. She raised her sword as he rushed in on her, and that first parried blow told her who was going to win this fight. She may be a Demon, but she did not have his inhuman strength. Without her magic, she was just was weak as a human, with only her Demonic invulnerability to protect her. A protection she did not enjoy against Tarrin's otherworldly sword. In seconds, he had her sword out wide, had her scrambling backwards, desperately evading his sword. She had to know it was deadly to her for her to act that way. He pressed her even harder, sweeping the sword back and forth like it was made of paper, knocking her out of position, then slashed her across her sword arm. She cried out aloud in pain, her arm shuddering from the slash to her upper arm, dropping her sword from momentarily nerveless fingers. Black blood flowed from the wound, and she grabbed at her arm with her free hand out of reflex, backing away from him with very real terror in her eyes.
He grabbed her by the neck and hauled her off her feet, slamming her into a nearby wall, then he placed the chisel tip of his sword right between her breasts, pressing on the leather bustier she wore to keep her wings free. Her eyes were wide and her chin quivered, holding onto his wrist with one hand as the other hung nervelessly at her side. "I'm only going to say this once," Tarrin hissed at her. "Take me to the book, or I'll pin you to this wall!"
I--I'll do anything! she replied desperately. Anything for my life!
Tarrin yanked her off the wall, spinning her around and grabbing her by the joint of her wing, then stuck the point of his sword in her back. "March," he growled at her. "And if you call up any of your brothers and sisters, they'll be the first to see you die."
She nodded fervently, holding her injured arm, cradling it as the fingers on that wounded arm began to twitch. She quickly and fearfully led him along passageways, down two flights of steps, and entering stone-walled halls that had to be underground. The air was cool, strangely dank, and the smells of the Demons' scents became strong there. This was where they stayed. There were other smells, even stranger ones, scents of the Hellhounds and even other, more exotic smells. Smells he didn't think he wanted identified. He led the Demon female before him, his every sense alive and scanning, searching for any enemies, any ambushes, anything out of place. But there were none. The passageways were empty, only the distant sounds with some unidentifiable source reaching them in the way of echos. The female led him down yet another staircase, to an unlit passage that ran off from the staircase, its upper corners decorated with cobwebs. There's a door at the end of the passage, she called mentally. It's the only door on this level. Mother keeps the book there. I'm not supposed to know about it. She keeps it a secret, even from us. Now let me go!
"Not until I have it in my paws," he hissed in reply.
She tensed up. No! It's guarded! It will kill me! I showed you where it is, so let me go!
"Guarded by what?"
A Demon, she replied. A creature from the Lower Worlds, who owes my mother a favor. It will appear to attack anyone who enters the room!
"You're not supposed to know about it, but you know about its guard?" he asked in a grim tone. "Are you lying to me, Demon?"
"No!" she finally said aloud, in a surprisingly sweet voice. "We all know about the guard to keep us from looking into places she didn't want us to look, but she never told us where the book is!"
He was uncertain. Was she lying? Had his idea to use one of them to lead him to the book led him into a trap?
When he was confused, he knew who to ask. The one who always made things clear.
"Goddess, is she telling the truth?" he asked suddenly.
She is, on both counts, the Goddess immediately replied. The Demon in his paw suddenly gasped, looking at the ceiling in confusion. Be very careful, my kitten! What lies beyond that door will make Shiika look like the one you hold in your hand! Shiika is powerful, but among the elite of Demonkind, she is considered a being of minor ability!
Tarrin looked at the door, fear rising inside him. What was beyond that door was something he was better off not seeing. But he had no choice. The Book of Ages was behind that door, and he had to get it. He just had to.
He had no choice.
Don't kill her, my kitten, the voice of the Goddess chimed when he pulled the sword from the Demon's back, readying to drive it through her. There is no need. She will not harm you now. I will not command you as your Goddess, I will ask you as a friend. Leave her be.
Bowing his head, he let go of her. Even a request from the Goddess was a command to him. He would never disobey her, no matter how much she gave him the opportunity. He couldn't. His anger burned to spit the wench, to make Shiika pay for humiliating him, for attacking him, but he would obey his Goddess. Not even his anger was stronger than his obedience. The female wasted no time in scrambling past him, running for the stairs, fleeing from him. But he let her go.
He turned to the door, taking a deep breath. That door represented everything. Everything he had gone through to get to that point, the pain, the loss of Faalken, the fear and hate and sadness and worry. They were about to end. Beyond that door was his goal, his end, the last obstacle. The end of the Questing Game stood beyond that door. But there was one more challenge to face, one more battle to fight. And from the sound of it, it would be the fight of his life. A fight for his life, where absolutely everything hung in the balance.
The game would end, one way or another. Either he would succeed and gain the book, or he would die at the hands of the monster that defended it. One way or another, it was about to end.
He knew fear. He had faced Shiika, and he had lost. This Demon was supposedly even more powerful than she was. But his fear was not as strong as his sense of duty, his obedience. He had lost Faalken to this mad quest, and he would not dishonor the memory of his treasured friend. The Goddess had tasked him to find that book, and he would find it, he would take it. No matter what. And that meant no matter what.
Duty was honor, and the cost of that honor was blood.
Honor and Blood.
The fear retreated, replaced by a terrible resolve. He raised his bloodstained sword, feeling it in his grip, trusting in it. It was bane to Demonkind, it would give him the only weapon he would possess against whatever laid beyond that door. He was beyond pain, beyond weariness. There was only his duty now, and it supplanted his anger. This wasn't about Shiika anymore. This was about making the Goddess proud of him, of doing her bidding, of winning the game for her. This was about duty.
This was about a beautiful little girl named Janette, whose very future hinged on whether or not he succeeded. A beautiful little girl, with a heart of gold, who had saved his life. A little girl to whom he owed everything.
Now it was time to repay that debt.
Bloodied, battered, exhausted, emotionally drained by what he had done, Tarrin faced that door without fear. The Goddess was with him.
They would face this together.
He padded up to the door. It was simple, unassuming, a simple wooden door with a rusty chain holding it shut. But it was cold to the touch, like the cold of a Wraith. Hooking the chain with his claws, he broke the rusted obstacle easily, twisting it apart, and then he pushed the door open carefully and slowly, exposing the chamber beyond.
It was very large. Very large. Nearly a hundred spans long, and it looked to be almost perfectly circular. There was a single light in the room, coming from the ceiling, s
urprisingly bright to his dark-attuned eyes, making him blink to adjust them to the increased light from inside the room. It was devoid of decoration, of furniture, save a small dais in the exact center of the room, a dais that supported a simple iron stand, upon which rested a large book. A very unassuming book, with a black leather binding and a simple metal lock keeping it closed. The light above shone down direcly upon the dais, bookstand, and book, as if to showcase them to any who entered.
He had finally reached the Book of Ages.
Trying not to let his impatience get the best of him, he looked into the room without stepping inside. It was empty, only the circular walls of grayish stone, the light that seemed to come from the top of a domed ceiling, and the dais and its stand and the book on top of it. There was no indication that there was a guardian lurking within the chamber, not a scent, not a rustle of air, not a whisper of sound. The chamber was empty. There it was, the Book of Ages, and it looked like there was nothing between him and it but fifty spans of empty air.
He knew that that was far from reality.
There was no sense in standing outside and waiting. There was no way around this. He would have to face this Demon sooner or later, and the longer he waited, the more of a chance that fear would gnaw into his resolve. Gripping his sword tightly, Tarrin lifted his foot and sent it over the threshold, then set it down onto the stone of the chamber.
Nothing happened.
Stepping completely into the chamber, his every sense keenly aware of the slightest change to his surroundings, Tarrin began to slowly and carefully walk towards the book. He was ready, even expecting, an attack. There was no telling if it knew he was there, or he simply hadn't gotten close enough to the book to trigger a response.
His ears twitched. There was a sound now...very faint, very far. Like the hum of a gnat's wings. He stood up and turned his head this way and that, trying to track the source of that sound, and it became louder and louder. The faint hum turned into a rhythmic buzzing sound as it approached, the sound of large chitinous wings beating at the air.
No! Not now!
Sarraya's form simply wavered into view just as the Faerie passed by him, her wings buzzing in his ears. She flew quickly and arrow-straight towards the podium, towards the book, unaware of the danger into which she had just placed herself.
"Sarraya, NO!" he screamed suddenly, raising his sword, lunging after her.
The room darkened when Sarraya reached the midpoint, and the shadows seemed to coalesce, to gather into a form immediately in front of the dais holding the book. She pulled up into a hover and watched in shock as the shadows melded, merged, and solid form replaced the immaterial darkness, a form that caused Sarraya to scream in terror.
Tarrin was absolutely awestruck. How horrifying!
It was nearly fifteen spans tall, twice as tall as Tarrin, formed more or less like a humanoid. It was unclothed, covered with patchy, manged fur of a rust color. Its body was thin, but it was most certainly powerful, for its wiry body was defined and sleek. It had four arms, two small ones sprouting directly from its chest, ending in clawed hands. The other set, where they should be, ended in clawed pincers that looked like tusks attached to flesh, the claws as long as he was tall, the insides of them covered with sharp ridges and spines to injure trapped prey. The tips of those pincer-tusks nearly dragged the ground, so long were its arms and its pincers. Its head was that of a dog, a frothing maw with glowing red eyes above, and goat's horns atop its canine skull.
It roared, a sound of utter darkness, of pure evil, and Sarraya turned and tried to flee from it mindlessly. Tarrin rushed forward to protect his tiny friend, ready to face this monster, to distract it so she could get away, but he could run fast enough.
With a raised pincer-arm, the Demon smashed Sarraya like a bug, sending her tiny body catapulting to the side, all the way to the wall. Her multicolored wings shattered when she slammed into the wall back first, bouncing off of it and falling limply to the floor, surrounded by tiny fragments of what had once been her beautiful wings as they drifted to the ground in sparkling spirals.
She did not move.
"No! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!" Tarrin shrieked, his eyes igniting from within with the unholy greenish aura that marked his fury. Not again! He would not lose another friend! He would not! Abandoning rational thought, abandoning fear, abandoning care, Tarrin threw himself into his rage, raised his bestial half to its highest state, a state where the need to destroy overrode even the instinct to survive. Tarrin raised his weapon and literally leaped at the horrifying monster before him, unafraid of it, unconcerned that he was overmatched. There was nothing but the need to destroy.
The creature met his charge without concern, but that nonchalance evaporated when it raised one of its pincer-arms to catch the airborne Were-cat, and got the bottom claw of its pincer sliced off as the Were-cat got within reach. Tarrin literally landed on top of its extended arm, leaping from it with madness in his eyes, flying right into the monster's face with his sword held high over his head. He brought the weapon down in a savage overhanded chop, a chop that would split the monster's head clean in half--
--but it simply wasn't there anymore.
Tarrin turned a full somersault as the momentum of his attack carried him into a spin, landing on the ground in confusion. The Cat did not understand. It was there one instant, and the next it was simply gone. His nose detected the enemy behind him, and Tarrin dove forward and rolled to his feet facing behind him, but there was nothing there. He could feel it, it was in the room.
A shadow behind warned him. He ducked instinctively as something whooshed over his head, but the Were-cat cried out when the long pincer claws of the monster's undamaged hand appeared on either side of him, and then closed. The power in that crushing grip instantly sent fire through him, cracked his ribs, crushed the air from his lungs, but the Cat had the presence of mind to react. Spinning the sword in his paw so the blade faced the other way, he twisted and stabbed blindly behind him, hitting nothing, but then tried again and felt the tip hit something, something that gave to its deadly edge. The beast bellowed in pain and the grip eased reflexively, allowing him to twist aside and duck under the pincer, sacrificing his shirt to it in the bargain.
Backing up, panting to recover from the pain, the Were-cat brandished his sword and squared off against the massive monster. They had proved to each other that they could hurt one another, but the monster seemed rather unimpressed. Its canine maw almost curled up in a smile as it looked down on its foe. It pointed at him with one of its smaller hands, and the Were-cat felt something strike the Ward protecting him from magical assault, turning even this monster's magic aside. That caused it to turn its head sideways, as if intrigued, and then its eyes began to glow with a bright red light as it motioned again.
Something smothered the Ward, flowed over it, surrounded it, and then attacked it like a pack of wolves hounding a wounded fawn. The Were-cat staggered under the attack, felt it penetrate the Ward, eat into it like acid, and then disrupt it. The Ward dissolved like smoke around him.
Despite his fury, the Cat knew it was now in trouble. That was confirmed when the creature made a flicking motion with its finger, and Tarrin felt gravity turn over, pulling him up towards the ceiling rather than down to the floor. The Cat was agile and lithe, twisting in midair to land easily on the sloped ceiling, looking down at the amused creature with burning eyes. In a quick move, he lunged directly over the monster just as the magic causing the reversal faded, and gravity reasserted itself properly. Tarrin did not turn over again, he fell headfirst towards the monster with the tip of his sword leading.
And it simply vanished once again.
Twisting in midair, he barely managed to land on his feet. How did it do that?
All thought ended when something smashed him from behind, sending him sprawling to the floor. Shaking his head fuzzily, Tarrin got back to his hands and knees, then rolled aside as a huge clawed foot sought to crush him into the floor. He t
wisted on the floor inhumanly and took a swipe at that leg, but it was simply gone.
It was toying with him!
He was struck again on the side, sent careening across the floor, and he lost his grip on the sword in the tumble. He heard it clang several times as it bounced along the floor, then skid to a stop somewhere behind him and to his right. Even the Cat understood that death would be the result if he could not recover the sword. A sudden red glow behind him sent him scrambling forward, as a raging cone of fire scorched the floor where he had been, a cone that moved to follow him for a terrifying second before exhausting itself mere fingers from reaching his tail. He snapped to his feet and whirled around, and found himself cut off from his weapon. It lay behind the massive Demon, who had placed itself squarely in the path to reclaim it, a ball of fire formed around the hand of the arm protruding from its chest. It gave him an evil, toothy smile, crooking a finger at him with its other human-like hand, taunting him.
Separated from his weapon, the Were-cat's enraged mind allowed the rational part of it analyze the situation. It quickly concluded that he stood no chance against this monster so long as it could disappear like it did, and turn gravity over and throw fire at him. He had no choice. He had to fight magic with magic. Despite the fact that his body was too exhausted to survive.
He never got a chance to try. A sudden strange force emanated from the creature, striking him like a cudgel to the head, sending him flying to his back with stars dancing before his eyes and a buzzing in his ears. He swam in a grey mist for what seemed like an eternity, and then felt something lock around his middle, pick him up off the floor. The pain in that sudden intense grip shocked him back to his senses, and he found himself in the Demon's clutches, held off the floor like a child with its pincers locked around his waist. And it was squeezing him, driving the sharp ridges and protrusions on its pincers into his middle, tearing a scream from his mouth as he felt as if he was being snapped in half.
Tarrin grabbed those pincers with his paws and pushed, pushed with all his might, his desperation giving him even more strength. But it wasn't enough. He could feel the monster strain against him, have to struggle to maintain its grip, but the pain overwhelmed him momentarily and caused him to lose his purchase. Pain blasting through him, he grabbed at a desperate ploy, one that just may work.
The Questing Game Page 119
