“Fat chance there unless you know something I don’t,” Xlina replied dismissively.
“You said you saw Val’s image of hell,” Oxivius inquired carefully. “You saw her inside the citadel?”
“Only briefly,” she replied, “Seconds no more.”
“What about the surroundings,” Oxivius pressed desperately. “What do you recall? Sights, smells, anything?”
“Ertigan was there,” Xlina answered as if the words pained her, “He tortured her, I saw it through her eyes.”
“I am so sorry,” Oxivius replied softly, “But I need you to remember. Your memories may hold answers.”
“I can’t,” Xlina replied, her voice laced with frustration. “It’s not that I don’t want to Ox, all I remember is that monster standing over her. Peeling her flesh with his hooked talon. There was not world around me Ox. Only pain and torment. It’s all I saw.”
Her words seemed to sting him, but he just nodded and looked away. She stood for a moment, feeling helpless and staring out into the great vastness of the fiery plains. Somewhere in this hellish landscape, Ertigan and his armies waged war, battling over this very stronghold. Her actions in Earthrealm had caused unrest for the demon lord and she hoped the bastard lie on an undying battlefield, a sword wrenching in his gullet for all eternity for what he had done to corrupt her dear friend Amber.
Oxivius seemed distracted as he stepped away. She could not help but wonder if he was having the same doubts. If the necromancer was facing the same feelings of hopelessness. She caught sight of him then, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. Working from the top button at his collar down, the stoic necromancer opened his blood red shirt. She flushed with embarrassment, feeling like a Voyeur watching him from afar but too curious to take her eyes away. She had seen his skin before. A tapestry of writhing and anguished faces. A collection of his victims’ souls inked on his flesh like living tattoos. He stopped as he reached his midriff and seemed to brace himself, drawing a grimace of sheer agony on his face. The skin on his chest moved.
“Ox!” Xlina called, lurching for him as his chest pushed forward as if something inside was clawing to get free. He wailed in agony as multiple hand shapes to form clawing and scratching from the inside out. He fell to his knees and held his shirt open in both hands as the macabre display continued. The souls trapped in his flesh longed for escape.
“Oxivius,” she shouted once more, rushing to his side.
“Stay back,” he growled through gritted teeth. The hands clawing on his chest pushed forward until a single spectral finger burst forth. It was ghastly white, and it severed his flesh, slowly tearing its way free as his skin reached its breaking point. Soon another finger followed, ripping through his chest as blood dripped down his torso. Then another and another until a full spectral hand pulled free from his flesh. The hand grew into an arm, then a shoulder, as the necromancer howled in agony. Blood spilled freely from the gaping wound until the specter’s skull-like face punched forth.
She has seen visual effects, grown up in modern America, where movies like Aliens and Predator were blamed for desensitizing the youth to blood and gore. In this moment, watching the specter claw its way free from its host, she had wished she truly had been desensitized.
“Oxivius,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper as her eyes rimmed with tears. The specter emerged from the wound on his chest, where it had ripped his skin apart. Tearing and shredding its way to freedom. It pulled its spectral body from the gaping wound until its waist emerged and it floated in the air before the kneeling Oxivius. At last, his screams subsided as the specter hung in the air before him.
“Follow it,” he mouthed, his voice cracked and barely audible. Xlina looked at the specter as it slowly drifted away.
“I can’t leave you,” she cried, looking back at her friend who remain collapsed to his knees, his arms sagging loosely to his sides.
“It’s soul,” he struggled to whisper. “It will seek the river. It’s the way.”
Xlina shot her gaze back at the specter, her mind accepting it for what it was. A soul released in hell. According to what Oxivius had said, it would enter a river and circulate all of hell until a demon fished it out. She gave chase, following the soul, not looking back for fear of losing sight of it as it picked up speed, bounding and vaulting its disembodied form over the rough landscape. She her Oxivius behind her, grunting weakly, but dared not look back for fear of losing the specter.
It weaved and wavered away from the citadel and into the rocky landscape. They were leaving the safety of the rock and entering the great expanse beyond where the earth worm like tentacles reached down from the black clouds above and rent the ground. Gouts of fire and molten rock burst from the ground around her and she felt like she was trapping in an old war movie, rushing through a battlefield as mortar rounds blew chunks of ground up alongside her. Still, she gave pursuit weaving and dodging the worst the plain offered. It was at that moment when a giant worm like tendril turned and cut before her. Rock and lava were sent up in a plume of debris as the massive tentacle cleaved the broken landscape, a plow through freshly fallen snow. She dived to the ground, holding her head and closing her eyes as the world around her was swept into a violent tumult of chaos. Molten rock rained from the sky and plumes of dust and debris hung like clouds in the air as the tentacle passed, carving its way through the plain.
She found her breath labored and heavy as her lungs screamed in protest filled with the hot sulfuric dust. She looked up to see a fresh crevasse cut into the plain where before there was only a flat ground. The landscape was a collection of heaved stone and magma and she realized how the chaotic destruction continually changed the hellish plain. This was just one level of hell, but she had seen her fair share and had her fill. She resolved to free herself of the mark, vowing that when she left this infernal realm she would never return, no matter the cost.
“Xlina,” Oxivius huffed, staggering over the debris behind her. She turned to see the necromancer, a ghastly sight as his torn flesh hung in folds flapping against his open shirt. In that moment, he looked ever the picture of his dark magic as his chest tissue and ribs moved with no covering. She sensed her stomach roil and, unable to contain it any longer, she rolled to her side and lurched. It had been a week or more since she last ate, and her stomach heaved up only more of the sulfuric ash that left a foul taste in her mouth as she coughed and sputtered.
“I lost it,” she lamented sourly as she lay on her side.
“Only just,” Oxivius exclaimed, though heavy breaths pointing at the fresh formed crevasse. “There is our entrance.”
“What was that, Ox?” she asked, rolling to her side and struggling to her feet.
“A soul,” he replied casually. “It wanted out. I simple stopped fighting it.”
She looked at his exposed ribs as his corded muscles moved. She could see his lungs yellowed by the sulfur in the air expand and contract as he drew breath.
“Are you okay?” She ventured slowly, unable to pull her eyes away from the grotesque scene of his torso.
“Indeed,” replied with a grimace. Noticing her discomfort, he began clumsily buttoning his shirt. “It is as I expected. My tissue is already healing though a rather unpleasant feeling, I must admit.”
“Unpleasant?” she scoffed as he fumbled to button his collar, finally removing the wound from view. “It looked like you would die.”
“Death is a release, love,” Oxivius grinned. “Not a punishment. It has no function in this place of perpetual torment.”
“Right, no death,” Xlina remarked, looking down into the crevasse.
“I think not,” Oxivius agreed. “Wouldn’t be much torture here if the victims just up and died right?”
“I suppose not,” Xlina answered vacantly as she looked down into the exposed depths. A river of blood rushed below, boiling and rolling as spectral souls careened with the currents, letting loose screams of anguish.
“Well, at least the water
won’t be cold,” Oxivius whispered in a hushed voice, letting loose a low whistle as he looked down into the broken earth. The river of blood rushed toward Ertigan’s fortress, and he looked back on the horizon where the obsidian citadel loomed with a nervous eye.
“I’m not sure about this, Ox,” Xlina shook her head as the boiling blood splashed and rushed below. The crevasse was deep, easily the highest point she had ever thought of jumping from it was two or three lengths of the high dive at the local pool.
“No sweat, love,” Oxivius replied, his voice cracking. “A minor leap of faith, that all.”
“Fresh out of faith, Ox,” Xlina replied sourly, leaning over the crevasse edge to evaluate the drop.
“I thought you might say that,” he answered as his hand touching and resting on her back. She smiled for a moment, turning her head to look fondly on the necromancer at the sudden but welcomed display of affection. She caught his eyes, blue and fierce. His roguish grin met her and she allowed her smile to linger for a moment, content not to say a word as she gazed into his face. Then the gentle touch turned into a push, and she was falling. Careening over the edge into the boiling river of blood below.
“I’ll never hear the end of that,” Oxivius scoffed before stepping off the edge of the crevasse.
Chapter Five
Soulstealer
Xlina gagged on the river of blood as her body plummeted below the surface. The current swept her away like a rag doll, twisting and turning through the rounds and bends of the subterranean river. She struggled to surface but found only solid rock as her breath left her body. The blood boiled with the souls of the damned and she could feel its hold on her soul. She panicked as her body careened through the darkness, her hands scrambling for any hold or purchase by which to steady herself. Her fingers scratched and clawed at the solid rock as her body pulled violently below the bloody depths.
Phlegethon Oxivius had named it the river of blood. Each of the rivers extolled a penalty on its souls for the crimes of their lives. The souls of the damned suffered as they traversed the infernal rivers. She felt hot, as if she were burning from the inside. Her ears filled with the screams of the damned. Xlina opened her eyes, thinking she would see not but darkness, however the river of blood was a glow with the ethereal light of a thousand souls. They boiled and coalesced, writhing around her. They grasped at her flesh, pulling and tugging on her arms and legs.
She cried out with her fleeting breath and blood filled her lungs. Blood of the damned. Her soul burned and her skin cracked and splintered. Her mind filled with images of violence. Her earliest memories of her first boyfriend, awaking from her slumber to his piercing screams as her nightmare energy engulfed hands pressed through his face like a hot knife through butter. Her fingers disappearing through his cheek and eye. Bolts of nightmare energy danced from her flesh to his scorching and burning his face and she screamed in horror. She turned to run, but there was no escape. She was drifting in Phlegethon, her body numb and weak.
Her mind flashed to the werewolf in Boston. It was alone, preying on the weak. Its powerful muscular jowls snapping and biting at her while its claws dug deep in her flesh. Her hands flared with the nightmare energy of her Baku heritage, and she twisted the creature’s head, snapping the neck before crushing its skull. Still, she tumbled through the river of damnation. Her soul, joining the rest in its lament.
Again, her mind rumbled through her life. Showing violent image after violent image. The horror of her dreams, the horror of her life. An unending cycle of violence. It flashed to the night at her apartment when Amber was bitten by the Cu Sith hound. The monstrous canine like creature biting down on the prone Amber. Her rage sending energy exploding forth as she lashed out in a violent maelstrom of nightmare energy. So it was the memories continued to replay. Showing her the more violent and wicked aspects of her life. All leading to that irrevocable act of violence. That moment when Amber, straddling her, eyes filled with rage. When Xlina put her hands over Amber’s heart and let the nightmare energy flow in a torrent of magical energy. That moment when the light dimmed in Amber’s eyes. When Xlina killed her friend.
She cried a silent wailing cry, muffled by the river of blood. At that moment, she wanted it to end. Wanted the river to stop tormenting her. Instead, it started at the beginning, her fingers once more pressing through soft flesh. The wails of terror playing in her ears and she wept. She wept for the ones she loved; she wept for her soul, now stained with Valeria’s foul mark. She wept for Amber and Oxivius, her dear friends who had come to know only violence. Her Baku spirit, her heritage, was like a curse destined to bring only pain and despair to those around her.
She felt an arm around her, pulling her to the surface, and she gasped. She never thought she would be thankful for the sulfur-tinged air, but her lungs greedily welcomed each breath.
“Shhhh,” Oxivius’ low voice was soothing, and she realized her body was convulsing the pool of blood. He pulled her to a rocky outcropping as she looked around. The river of blood had slowed and opened into an underground catacomb. A smooth red mirror formed where the river stilled like a single large pond of blood. The cavern walls on the far side opened to a landing and walls of obsidian glass. On the landing loomed two massive brutes. They had ruddy brown flesh with heads that lacked distinct facial features instead, they looked like lumps of unformed clay. No eyes, no ears, just a gaping maw lined with fangs. They were unclothed, but androgynous, with features befitting a ken doll. They worked large poles in the pool of blood.
“We made it,” she trembled, her voice weak.
“That we have my little Baku,” Oxivius whispered. His voice was soft and nurturing. It was like a father’s voice reassuring their child after a bad dream.
“What was that?” Xlina asked meekly.
“Phlegethon,” Oxivius answered quietly, his voice barely a whisper in her ear. “The river of blood that boils violent souls bound for hell.”
“How did you?” Xlina asked, confused. Her mind was still a blur as the cycle of violence faded from her thoughts. The river had shown her, had made her relive every act of violence, every deed. She was helpless against the current. How could Oxivius, full of souls with a hundred violent lifetimes, still be functioning at all?
“Hush,” Oxivius answered softly, “You’re safe X, it’s okay. Come, you’ll feel better on solid ground.”
He pulled her toward the landing, seemingly not concerned by the two massive brutes, as they fished about in the blood. Every so often, one would pull its massive rod from the water, revealing an ethereal net on the end and the specter of a soul. The creatures would then dump the soul into a mine cart style lift, which would ascend into the ceiling and the floors above. The pool of blood remained tranquil and smooth as glass as they would plunge their rods back in to fish for yet another soul.
He pulled himself up on to the obsidian landing first, securing his position flat on his belly before reaching back into the pool to fish her out. His hands were firm as they found purchase under her arms, and he gently pulled her from the pool. She flopped on the obsidian floor and only then was she able to see the full extent of her injuries. Her yoga pants torn, scratched by the claws of the dead in the river. Her bronzed skin showed through the tears with jagged red cuts that seeped and oozed. Her torso was in similar shape and her fingertip were raw from scraping on the stone walls and ceiling. She trembled again, suddenly feeling cold compared to the burning feeling in the river.
“So cold,” she replied through chattering teeth.
“You have been through a great ordeal,” Oxivius said softly as he wrapped his arms around her. “It’s not every day one traverses hell, love.”
She shivered in his arms, feeling the press of his damp shirt on her flesh as he held her from behind. She looked up at the creatures fishing in the pool. They seemed completely oblivious to the pair lying on the obsidian landing a mere dozen feet away.
“They don’t know we are here?” She asked skeptic
ally.
“More that they don’t care, love,” Oxivius grumbled softly. “The fear of their masters lash far outweighs their curiosity.”
“They are slaves?” She asked as the feeling returned to her numb limbs. Already the restorative properties of the Infernal realm had begun. The bleeding on her legs and abdomen had scabbed over and her hands felt warm once more.
“I would venture they are natives to this realm,” Oxivius replied, pulling his arms away. She keenly felt his movement, the absence of his touch, but shouldered on. She placed a foot under her, then the other, and let loose a groan as she stood.
“I feel a little worse for wear,” she said, turning to look at the necromancer. His clothes dripping with blood from the pool, he appeared silly but no worse for wear. “How is it the waters didn’t...?”
“Preparedness, I suppose,” he grinned sheepishly, “I am afraid I didn’t give you much warning.”
In her delirious haze from the river Phlegethon, she had forgotten how she came to be in such a predicament. His hand grazed her back gently before pushing her over the chasm. Anger boiled in her as her face skewed. He merely shrugged, shrugged as if he had not pushed her over the edge of the chasm.
“Don’t you ever,” she shot angrily before slapping him hard on the shoulder. He winced, but accepted the blow stoically.
“I would have asked, but,” he ventured, and she remembered their conversation in the hearse.
“I would have said no,” she finished his thought from before.
“Precisely,” he said through that damned grin of his.
“I know it’s been a while since you last walked the Earthrealm,” Xlina shot back wryly, “But there is this whole consent thing now. You should look it up.”
“I’ll add it to the list,” he grinned, folding his arms across his chest. Only then did she notice the absence of his hallmark cane.
“What happened to your cane,” she blurted absently.
Dirge of the Dead Page 6
