Bloodthirst Quenched

DATE: IMMORTAL REIGN 1023 MONTH 5 DAY 29

The din of battle outside had died out. Only moments ago, there were still occasional lightning blasts and clashes of metal coming from the streets. But no more. Slamming through the burly gates, a plump priest stumbled into the prayer hall. Eyes wide with fear darted left and right, searching for a hiding spot he knew didn’t exist. Unable to choose between his bedchamber or the cellar, he cowered under the lectern, seeking refuge in its familiarity.

“No, no, no, no, no!”

A muscular man dragged him out into the open and tossed him before the Goddess. Sobbing and trembling, the priest covered his face, as if the action would make his captors vanish. His pathetic display earned his gut a sharp kick, turning his wailing into pained coughs.

“Guards,” he screeched. “Guards!”

A young woman introduced his jaw to her boot, sending a streak of red across the marble tiles and knocking out a tooth. The pudgy creature writhed, curling up into a ball.

“How do you think we got in, swine?” she hissed, leaning forward until her jagged teeth tickled his ear. “Those children better be alright.”

The squirming priest stole a look at his tormentor and froze. Her fiery hair, cat-like eyes, and horns put any doubt to rest. This demonic heathen would soon slurp his blood from the hallowed grounds of his temple.

“What d-do you want?” the quaking pig could barely muster a whimper.

Something cold tickled his unshaven chin. The priest took one peek at the scarlet spear and sealed his eyes again. It was a cursed weapon.

“Brother Lucius,” it was a voice the priest knew, only much, much colder. “You have nothing to fear from me. My lord merely wishes to rekindle his friendship with you.” The prickling sensation on his chin faded. “We’ll talk about Vera afterwards. You better hope nothing happened to my wife.”

“Dramien?” Lucius cried. “Dramien, you have to believe me. I had no choice! I blessed your wedding, remember? I would never –”

Two resounding slaps cut off his pleading.

“Papa slaughtered pigs that made less noise,” mocked the woman, massaging her hand. “I wonder if he’ll leave behind a bigger mess too.”

“Naya,” Dramien extended the last syllable in warning. “Should a hunter be playing with her food?”

“He needs to suffer,” snapped Naya. “After what happened to –”

“Just erase the barrier.”

“Already did. Got in here before you, didn’t I?”
“You got lucky with those templars. I had three on me. Those hammers were heavy.”

Naya showed him a toothy grin. “And that’s why you’re favourite uncle.”

If only every commander had warriors like you two.

The psychic voice bouncing in their heads ended the argument. A chilling draft entered the door, as if to make way for the ethereal wraith that followed. Flickering and shapeless, the ghostly apparition unfurled itself, almost like a pulled curtain.

Expanding his presence, the wraith studied the church, his spectral limbs darkening with disgust. This depraved den was the starting point of his journey, the perverse cradle of deception that tore him from his flesh. And now, at his mercy, was the writhing maggot who engineered his downfall.

How he wished he still had his bodies, an instrument to exact upon Lucius the torment he deserved. To strangle him with his bare hands, to run a knife across his throat, a foot to crush undefended fingers, and a leg to kick him in the groin. For now, he would have to enjoy it vicariously through Dramien and Naya.

Hello, Lucius. The wraith seemed to be cackling. Remember me?

For a moment, it almost seemed as if Lucius found a spark of courage. He sat up, straightened his spine, and stabbed a finger at Dramien with such righteous anger that Naya almost forgot all the grovelling she had witnessed moments ago. Her nose, however, was not fooled. She smelt desperation.

“Dramien!” the priest screeched. “What is this? Why does the Targonian hero debase himself with such foul company? Not only do you consort with a Dracon sow, but you now serve this demon?”

“My lord asked you a question,” Dramien stated flatly, turning his back on Lucius. “You do well to answer him.”

“Recant now!” Lucius exclaimed like a man possessed. “Kill the wench and denounce the demon. You still have time! I can save you!”

Dramien gave him a wintry stare before shouldering his spear. He had always opposed torture. If he didn’t walk away now, he feared his itching hands might violate that principle. Stopping at the gates, he turned his head.

“There will be time enough for our reunion,” said Dramien. “Until then, you belong to my lord.”

Circling a hysterical Lucius, the wraith took a while to sculpt something resembling a human face and shoved the grotesque mask at him. The deathly chill dispelled what little bravery Lucius found, bringing the priest to his knees.

Now...where were we?

“Back, demon!” screamed Lucius, clawing at his shapeless tormentor. “Back! Goddess defend me!”

Naya, could you?

Sighing, Naya twisted Lucius’s arms behind his back and slammed him into the ground. As much as she enjoyed his bleating, his fat worming against her knuckles brought bile up her throat.

“I know no demon,” the priest squawked. “I am a man of Goddess and I have never known such wickedness in my life.”

It’s only natural for you to forget. The ghost furrowed its brows into a wrathful visage, conjuring an image of a man wearing a white lab coat and pair of gaudy sunglasses. After all, you never expected to see me again. The spirit oozed towards his struggling captive. I am Ruxian, the man you thought you killed!

Pressing her knees against Lucius’s spine, Naya covered her ears and closed her eyes. The spectre began glowing violent, unleashing a blinding light and an ear-piercing shriek. Lucius, who ripped his habit in the ensuing struggle, foamed at the mouth and went limp. Having rendered his victim unconscious, Ruxian enveloped the priest in mist.

Ruxian began channelling, his ethereal body throbbing with effort. It's been a while since he last used this invasive power. The information overload, the strain on his mind, and potential harm to the subject all contributed to his reluctance. In a previous life that seemed so distant, he always secured explicit consent from participants and went to incredible lengths to see them unharmed. He had no such reservations for Lucius. For this fat priest, he had only a contemptuous hatred that muddied his being in a murky red.

Despite his weak morals and flesh, Lucius was a talented mage. Even out cold, the invisible bulwark guarding Lucius remained sturdy as an underground bunker. Again and again, Ruxian flared crimson, releasing increasingly intense psychic pulses, pressing a single point until he felt a pop, almost like a bubble bursting.

Flowing through the small crack, Ruxian encountered yet more resistance resembling self-hypnosis, mental safeguards that repress memories. While not nearly as sturdy as the first layer, he needed to be careful. If he shattered the mind alongside the enchantments, then all would be lost. Tracing each lock with his ethereal fingers, Ruxian picked at them. Click after agonising click, Ruxian dismantled the obstacles until the dam collapsed, overwhelming him in a deluge of mental images.

Why did you summon me? Lucius’s mind was now a search engine that answered his queries with his memory. This particular question summoned the instant Lucius summoned Ruxian into the very church. Even after losing all his sensations, the vision tasted sour. Was I just unlucky?

How did you summon me? What spell did you use? What do you need to activate the spell? Ruxian fired more questions in quick succession and seared the images into his mind. While he’d happily trade away his newfound perfect memory to restore his body, his sharpened mind was what got him in the church.

The episodes quickly lost resolution and the cacophony of the physical world beckoned, signalling to Ruxian, much to his chagrin, that his time was short. He had, however, two more things to do, twin favours he promised Naya and Dramien.

Where are the Dracon children? The fleeting vision of wailing children and snipping scissors made even the nebulous Ruxian queasy. What have you done with Vera? The images that followed made Ruxian curse his enhanced memories. He felt an urge to retch despite possessing no flesh. His personal vendetta seemed petty by comparison.

The darkness that devoured the vision peeled away, revealing the church to Ruxian once more. Her chained blade at the ready, Naya looked at Lucius like a shark that smelled blood. Upon the return of their undead commander, the pair turned their hungry stares toward Ruxian.

Ruxian projected the images of the little Dracons writhing as women with scissors lopped off their horns. Covering her mouth, Naya turned her face to hide her tears, forgetting in her grief that his sight was a zone rather than a line.

“I’ll skin those –” sobbing, Naya never finished the sentence.

You ready, Dramien? Ruxian asked.

Dramien swallowed. “I must know.”

“Me too,” said Naya, wiping her face. “I liked Vera.”

Ruxian displayed an interrogation. It was Lucius, seated across the table from a young woman. He dangled a coin before her, as if performing a hypnotic ritual. The subject, however, sealed her eyes shut, refusing to cooperate. This went on for some time until her head abruptly dropped. Naya recoiled with a terrified gasp. Dramien, screaming with unadulterated anguish, clawed at the visions. Ruxian shrank his vision. The usually stoic knight breaking down was not an easy watch.

Naya and Dramien shared a bench in silence. The Dracon girl stared at the ground, dumbstruck. Eyes closed, Dramien muttered fervent prayers to the Goddess. Having regained some semblance of composure, he extended an arm to tousle Naya’s hair. She welcomed the paternal gesture initially before swatting it away with an irate growl.

“Papa’s pig heads have a healthier colour than you,” murmured Naya, sniffing. “You alright?”

Dramien made a face. “Can’t complain,” he said, though his laughter quivered. “Saw my wife for the first time in months. How you holding up?”

“They’re still alive,” said Naya, her eyes boring into Lucius. “Just like this – thing.”

“We can correct that mistake,” Dramien growled, cracking his whip. “So long as Lord Ruxian has no use left for him.”

Ruxian drifted towards the exit. He's all yours.