by D.E.P.
The knocks became far louder than before. The poundings had been light, starting with only three silent beams of sound. Slowly they became much more violent. “What is it!?” yelled the cloaked figure as he walked steadily towards the medium-sized black doors preventing the knocker from proceeding. Small thick spikes bordered the door’s interior surface, gleaming as the man reached them. The strange man reached the middle of the door that contained a smooth surface from the spikes. There was no seal dividing the door into two parts, in fact it would have appeared to be part of a wall except for the irritating echo through the hall at the exterior.
Quickly pushing the ragged black sleeves upwards, the man hastily pushed his hand against the smooth surface until a small amount of orange light formed around his thin fingers. Silently laughing, it was clear that his throat contained a gathering of ripe saliva. The door continued discoloring its black surface to instead be a vibrant orange with glints of yellow lines. Slowly, even the colors that appeared to be a lining of lava, slowly slid downwards to expose the image of Furtim.
Furtim held a silver staff with strange engravings rising upwards to a peculiar globe. It appeared as if a thick black smoke was enclosed, encircling around in a silent yet mystifying movement. Noticing the older man stood overlooking the odd masterpiece with great interest, Furtim smiled wickedly, “I myself have a magic even you are foreign to.”
“That is impossible! How did you get a hold of it? Do not come near, for that staff contains a dark power!” the elderly man motioned Furtim to move out of the odd mystical doorway. It was clear that fear screamed out of the blank eyes. A small amount powder flew into the air, not ever falling down as it was destined to do.
Furtim smiled far more profoundly than before, the serpent slowly appearing at the side of his right shoulder. “I am sure you will do as you are told. I cannot quite kill you because you see, I need you. But I can promise you that I will throw your pale eyes into the fire to burn along with your mistress.”
The man frowned, lifting up his white eyebrow to his right side. “My mistress was never seen in the land. She wandered off into the gardens, never to be seen again.
“Is it true that magic can bring back even the dead? Or is it merely the living?” questioned Furtim eerily. He did not wait for a response before he snapped his fingers without a blink from his reddened eyes. Quickly, a servant a few inches smaller than Furtim walked to where he stood, bearing a familiar women in tight clutches. The older woman looked upon the ground, far too intoxicated to move her head upwards to see what or who was before her. Her white hair obediently fell to the sides of her young blank face. Thick purple bindings gleamed around her every step, for she was a prisoner at hand—merely a token for a job of evil.
“It cannot be! She died in the gardens of…” began the elderly man in horror.
“Of Defuncti. I know. She did not die, however; her spirit was merely separated from her weak body. I was able to stitch back the soul with the needle of anima. It was no easy task as you can see. But here she is and if you do not do as I say,” stated Furtis as he snapped to his side without turning his head, “She will surely disappear in a much more suffering manner than before.” The luminous purple chains drifted off from sight as the servent turned away with the woman from the elderly man’s view.
The elderly man quickly ran forward, but Furtim’s strength was far stronger. Even if he were to proceed, the stealthy serpent would put an end to his conquer. Agitated, the elderly man’s eyes teared along the outskirts of the veiny blank eyes. He threw a handful of the purple powder into the air once again, lifting his own ancient staff and hitting it onto the ground. Sudden sparks of red gleamed from underneath the simple piece of wood before nearing the doorway with great precision. Promptly, a swirl, the color of what had been the doorway, quickly moved on towards Furtim. Furtim stared through the tunnel of anger, noticing the stormy appearance in the room: papers fluttered from the walls, the fire from the fireplace became far more ablaze, and the several potions that lined the ancient cracked desk sizzled with renewed acidity. “You will not become the best of me! You made one vital mistake, Furtim. For I knew you would come. Several glimpses of what will become lie against me,” yelled the elderly man with great force.
Furtim continued looking at the swirl of liquid nearing him, yet he took his stance. “Well why would you ever attempt to reverse what your destiny is already about to become?” Furtim questioned with a smirk. The serpent continued moving its immense metallic form along its master’s body.
“Because there is one glimpse that shows my conquer for now. This is all I need to defeat your stealthy power! While you will attempt to bring evil once again to the land, you will fail immensely in the end! I am Magicalis, one of the elder sorcerers of the land,” shouted the elderly man in a quick manner over the loud noise caused by the swirl of intense lava. A stench of burning flesh filled the air before Magicalis motioned his arms for the swirl to proceed. The moving funnel did not fail to abide as it filled the doorway where Furtim stood, his image flickering with a steady smile of victory. “Did one of your so called glimpses of the future show you a flicker? Let us not try anything to deceive me or it will be the end of your mistress.”
Magicalis stared at the doorway in horror, his eyes brightening with defeat. “But the knock!” whispered Magicalis to himself.
“Yes, it was merely a fragment of your imagination,” stated Furtim as his body appeared behind Magicalis. He lifted up his right index finger, letting the long black nail touch the petrified head. Magicalis did not move, for he knew there was no way out. His magic was entwined with nature, for he possessed the magic of earth. “Was she my real?” he questioned before the nail touched his skull.
Furtim stopped in his tract, “Yes, she was. That, was not fake.” He pierced the skull with his sharp nail, filling the piercing with a new red liquid. He smiled wickedly as Magicalis’s body became covered with thick black veins of death. “Perhaps your foretelling of the future is dwindling along with your frail body,” stated Furtim without waiting for a response from the trembling figure. Furtim stretched his neck out like a demon, his eyes widening with palpable evil.
Chapter 15
Beasts Amidst the Quiet Grounds
