The Isle of Terror: Part 6

I stared at the scene in front of me in disbelief. Exhausted from all the running and fighting, stressed from all the carnage I had witnessed recently, as well as isolation, my mind was getting hazy. The strange purple mist seemed to be pulsating, like an immaterial heart.

“Professor?” I asked weakly, stumbling slowly closer to the room. There was no reaction. I called out to him again, shouting this time, noticing the pitch of my voice rising in panic. All the bodies on the floor aside, there was a fundamental wrongness about the place. In spite of the overwhelming urge to run away, some impulse was dragging me closer and closer to the room.

My louder attempt to call the professor out elicited a reaction. He turned around, a glassy look in his eyes. Immediately upon noticing me approaching, however, he regained focus.

“What happened here, Professor?” I inquired. By this point, I was getting suspicious that he was somehow complicit in the demise of his allies, but I still couldn’t imagine what series of events would lead to the present situation. Was he always in league with demonic forces lurking on the island? That seemed unlikely, especially since he had no influence on the chain of events that allowed him to set foot on Adahuya in the first place. But the fact remained that he was the sole survivor of his group, had no way to protect himself, and yet was somehow spared by the infernal forces.

“They were going to take it. Finally, I got the power I deserve. He promised me dominion over the lives of men. He recognized my talent and promised me the power to match it. All I had to do was pledge to use it in his name, but for a worthy master, that’s a small price to pay!”

“You’re not making any sense!” I shouted, “What happened to our allies?”

“They would seek the power for themselves. But they don’t deserve it. He is generous; he would take them into his service if they asked. So it fell upon me to protect him from worthless servants. I will be more than enough to exert power in his name!”

“So, it was you who killed them?” I asked. The answer was obvious, but I was still shocked by this turn of events.

“I did. And if you value your life, you will stand down. One more step, and I will obliterate you. You are not worthy of his gifts either”.

Everything was clear now. This wasn’t a premeditated act. Gorchin stumbled into this room and got seduced into making a deal with the demonic entity inhabiting it. Fear in my chest was quickly replaced by fury.

I made another step forward, dragging my handgun and taking aim. True to his word, Gorchin reacted, raising his right arm. I shuffled to the right as he did this, shooting at him three times. Simultaneously, he released a ball of white energy, sending it down the corridor at a ludicrous speed. If I hadn’t taken that step to the right, I would’ve been obliterated. Even as it narrowly missed me, it managed to tear the chitinous plate armor on my left arm to shreds.

The demon, indeed, gave Gorchin tremendous power, but this didn’t magically turn him into a competent fighter. The spell he unleashed was the most devastating, compared to casting time, I had seen by that point, but he arrogantly believed he was now unstoppable, and I would get killed by the first attack. He didn’t even bother with the defense, and two of my bullets hit him straight in the chest. He opened his mouth, trying and failing to verbalize his disbelief, and slumped to the ground.

Carefully, I pressed on, the sense of dread having returned in force. But as soon as I took a step in the room itself, it disappeared, as if washed away. My focus was drawn towards the dagger that had fallen from Gorchin’s hand. I tried to pry my thoughts from the weapon, turning my eye towards Civet instead. His throat had been slit, and by this point, he was long dead.

The demonic presence would not allow me to grieve or even process my friend’s death. My mind was invaded by the strange, silver dagger. Its blade was roughly shaped and asymmetrical, as if forged by natural processes. There was no handguard, and the pommel vaguely resembled a skull, but not in a deliberate way. As with the blade, it looked like a natural phenomenon. A stone or a cloud someone would describe as “looking like a skull” might be identical to a scaled-up version of this pommel. This strange, ceremonial blade kept calling out to me until all I could think about was picking it up.

I knelt and laid my hand on the hilt. It was warm, and the blade was still stained with blood. I picked it up, then got back on my feet and faced the altar. Suddenly, I wasn’t in the room filled with purple mist anymore.

I was on a hill, overlooking a battlefield. Vast legions under my command were advancing at an unruly enemy mob, who was preparing for a hopeless last stand. Rivers of blood had been spilled to get me to this point. A lot of the spilling had been done by me personally, and I knew that, if I wished, I could deal with the enemy army without assistance. Sending the soldiers was just more convenient.

This could be my future, it was revealed to me. The demon wasn’t so much talking as planting information into my head. The purpose of Arthacyros was to pave the way for me by creating a superior body, fit to enact its will. Now I could take over his empire. All I had to do was pledge my loyalty to this entity, its name unpronounceable in any human tongue, and sign the contract in blood. That was what the dagger was for.

I tried to separate my own thoughts from this malign influence. I never asked for any of this. Never once did I wish for absolute power. Leading unstoppable armies and ruling with an iron fist, it seemed so very lonely. Back in reality, once again, I motioned to place the dagger back on the altar.

It resisted. New thoughts poured into my head, and I couldn’t tell if they were my own. Should I really reject such an opportunity? Not everyone is given a chance to stand head and shoulders above mere mortals. And my soul may seem too high a price, but who knows – if I play my cards right, I might never die. Besides, who said I had to be a cruel tyrant? I could rule as an enlightened despot instead, bringing order and justice into the chaotic world.

My resolve was, in spite of my best effort, beginning to shake. Before I could do anything foolish, however, a gunshot echoed throughout the halls. A bullet pierced through my unarmored left arm. The noise and the pain brought me to my senses instantly. I tossed the dagger as far as I could, like a hot potato, and turned around to see Iocasta, her face contorted with horror and despair, aiming her rifle at me.