Regret

 The nightmare was unending. Samuel was haunted, burned and torn limb from limb. The cycle of torture and pain repeated after he was made whole once more. He was betrayed by everyone from his friends to the random people he saw in the streets.

There was only a single thing that kept him alive. It was the power of the Nefara that he had gained from the artefacts. It put balm on his wounds and made sure he never lost his mind from the torment. All he knew was that only more power would save him.

Once more he was more a worm than a man, mocked and despised. Savage beasts of the wasteland were feeding on his flesh. He died of thirst time and time again.

No more.

The great spirit comforted him. He was his saviour and only friend. He wanted to grasp for that straw with utmost desperation. Please stay with me. I need you. Any time the figure disappeared the torture grew worse. Please. The form of the colossus turned and a single name was etched into Samuel’s soul. Aixer. He was the only one who could deliver him from the pain.

Samuel gasped as he woke up. The pain was still fresh in his mind and he didn’t know if it was real or just the memory of a nightmare. He looked around in a daze as if drunk and not knowing where he was.

“Samuel.”

He heard voices calling out to him, calling his name. All their faces were a blur. Frantically he grabbed for his chest where his source of salvation lay. He missed it the first time and tried again. With terror and despair he realised it was not there. In fact he could no longer sense it at all. Only his weak bracelet remained. No. It can’t be. He looked up and his vision began to clear. His tormentors were surrounding him again. Another round of torture was just around the corner. This time it would be worse than ever before. His power was gone. There would be no reprieve.

“You stole it!” Samuel screamed as he rose to a sitting position. He had planned to get up but was too weak to do anything more. “Where is it?” He let all of the hatred that had accumulated in him out. “Give me back my power!”

His enemies were speaking but he couldn’t make out their jumbled words. It was as if they spoke a foreign language that merely resembled his own. One of them began approaching. Fear gripped him as the agony was about to begin anew. The torturer extended a horribly scarred hand towards him and Samuel batted it away and growled.

“Stay away from me beast.” He tried to lunge and strike but only fell back down to his bed.

He was breathing deeply and watched the figure shrink back. Even though he had been able to see the faces that surrounded him for a while, they only just began resolving in his mind. Ewa was looking at him with a mixture of fear and deep sadness. Beyond her, Yorath and Arianwen stood with horrified expressions. Arianwen put an arm around Ewa’s shoulder. As Samuel’s consciousness began fading as his strength was all used up, he only saw the three of them leave the room, leaving him alone.

His nightmares continued broken only with brief periods of lucidity. More and more, the Nefara that called himself Aixer promised him relief if he just allowed him. Within his dreams Samuel was about to accept the Nefara’s propositions but was suddenly stopped by the sad faces of his friends. They looked at him as if he were a monster.

He then remembered what he had done as he woke up for the first time. The sense of shame was so powerful that even the pain of torture was not able to fully erase it from his mind. What am I even doing? I’m now hated by friends from two different worlds and it’s all my fault. And for what?

For the first time since the day he got it, Samuel removed his bracelet with the help of both his chin and the stump of his right hand. The source of power that had kept him sane and helped him overcome his disability. He held it above him as he lay in bed and felt the power emanating from it. He spent a long time just staring at it and turning it around in his hand. There was a need within him to release the power, set the entire room ablaze if that was what it took. It was a confusing feeling and he needed to actively fight the urge. The bracelet itself seemed to be whispering in his mind and its voice was strangely familiar. It’s the same voice as the strange figure in my nightmares. The Nefara Aixer.

When he felt like going back to sleep he began putting it on once more. As he did so his sleeve fell back and some of the bandage around his arm began getting undone. He sighed at that as there was no way he would be able to fix it by himself. At least that means it wasn’t stuck to my wounds. Samuel had had previous experience of a bandage fusing into a wound as it dried out. It was the sort of pain you wouldn’t wish on your enemy. He had to chuckle at that. Despite all he had been through, such a small matter still remained in his mind.

The next moment what little good mood he had drained away into great distress. He had expected an ugly wound, perhaps already a new scar to decorate his arm. What stared back in his face was much worse. There were hideous discoloured and unnatural growths, the skin was hardened and a couple of very small spikes protruded from the area around the elbow. He gaped and the hideous arm. About half of the forearm was affected and his clothes and bandage concealed where it ended.

His mind was racing and he began gasping for breath. It can’t be. There is no way. He tried rationalising the affliction. However, no matter how much he tried, the thought wouldn’t go away. The disfigured part of his body looked just like Jarek’s body. And in turn just like that of his once captors, the Cyrhil.

Samuel wailed in pain and terror. Another voice in his mind tried to get through to him. He thrashed around and the voice grew angrier and began screaming at him but he didn’t care. As he continued his tantrum, the bracelet that he hadn’t fully replaced on his hand fell away from him.

A shock of pain emanated from his brain and spread out all over his body. The emotional anguish became true pain. There was a small clink as the bracelet rolled off the bed and landed on the hard floor. He tried grasping for it in desperation and fell out of the bed. A sick compulsion prevented him from thinking about anything except for the artefact.

No!

The thought came unbidden. What am I doing? Why would it matter so much if I was separated from the artefact for just a little time? Am I in control of my own thoughts and actions? The answer to that was obvious even to Samuel. At the same time he craved it not as a thirsty man craved water but as a suffocating man craving a breath of air.

He was faced by a reality he didn’t want to acknowledge. After all the effort he had put into obtaining power it might have all been in vain. By his actions he was becoming worse than Madoc with his obsession over magic. With his appearance he was becoming like Jarek. Both of these facts stemmed from magic itself.

“It’s evil.” The words came out as a whisper in the empty room. Tears began streaming from his face and he knew his own words to be true. He got to all threes with a great effort. The days he spent in bed had left him weakened and sore. How long has it even been since that day?

The magic itself was rotten. He could no longer delude himself about that fact after all he had seen. All along there was a nagging feeling about something being wrong ever since his first encounter with the terrible art but he had always pushed any stray thoughts aside for the sake of his own lust for power.

The question that remained was far did the rot reach. He shuddered with the thought. Thinking that Cyrhil artefacts were the only source of corruption was nothing more than wishful thinking. Where do the artefacts come from? Many basic questions had never been clearly answered despite the extensive education they had received. His thoughts turned to the source. The Nefara. Could it be? The thought was so dangerous that he dared not even form it completely within his own mind let alone speak it into existence.

Within the confines of the room he made his resolution.