Gifts Most Unholy

A magical energy that was both ancient and powerful enveloped Avii’s broken body. It swirled around his limbs, snapping bones back into place and filling his collapsing veins with blood. It flowed under his skin, removing a lifetime of scars and healing muscles that had been pushed past their limits time and again. The glow of arcana eventually settled in his chest, revealing a soft red light as the shadows above twisted into a form.

“Good.” The witch cooed, releasing a laugh. “Very good.”

“You’re…healing me?” Avii asked weakly, his head propped up as he examined the magic work. “But only the gods—”

“Child,” She cut him off as her hand reached forward, hovering over his chest. “Magic predates divinity. It predates existence. I am not healing you. I am fixing you. They’re both different and the same. But the reality is as such…if I am to make this contract binding, you must be in your prime. Or else your body will perish!”

“Wha—GYAAHHH!”

Without warning, the witch drove her hand into Avii’s chest. Blood spilled over his body as razor-like fingers pierced his flesh, tearing into muscle and splitting ribs. His racing heart, thudding against her firm grip, did its best to escape. But with each thump, her nails drove deeper into the tender mass of flesh.

Squirming to free himself, Avii felt a second grip come for his throat. But the witch did not grab for him, nor did she try to stabilize his moving body. Instead, he felt as her sharpened nails sliced his neck so deep that she struck bone. In a panic, he reached his weak arms up to stop the bleeding, but it was already too much. A sanguine river poured now from his throat as he tried to cough. But no air would escape his lips as blood spurted out between his fingers and he slowly began to lose consciousness.

Then, just as the world began to close in around Avii, a vision came to him. He watched from the witch’s perspective as she carved out his throat. Saw as he struggled to stop the bleeding. Waited for his hands to drop. And then, as his body convulsed and the fountain of his lifeforce slowed to dribble, he observed as shadowy tendrils flowed up from his chest. Watched as they wrapped around his throat, suturing the wounds and coaxing the blood back into his body.

With a sucking gasp, Avii was conscious again. Shakily he grabbed at his throat, feeling for where the serrated nails had slit it open. But he could not find it. No scar or wound. No thread holding it together. Just smooth flesh that felt as though it had never been touched by blade or noose.

That was when he realized that the witch’s hand was no longer in his chest. Having been removed some time before, he reached next for his heart. But again, there was no sign of torment. No wound or blood nor even a disturbance of the hair that covered his breast. It was as though the torture had been nothing more than a dream. A bad dream that was now over. At least, for the moment. At least until a cackle marked the return of the witch.

“Good, heh-heh-heh, you’re awake.” She laughed as her shadow approached. “Your soul is now bound, boy. So how about we move to the next stage?”

“Next?”

Hands like vipers struck at Avii’s face with a deadly precision. Pressure built around his eyes as dirty fingers dug into the sensitive cavities of his skull. Before he could even comprehend the need to shriek, it was done. Suddenly, the darkness of the cave became darker as his eyes disappeared from his head.

Screaming in agony, the man fell to his back and grabbed for his face. Blood poured down his cheeks like sanguine tears as he rolled from side to side, attempting to delay further torture. As he did this, the sound of his shrieking slowly became drowned out by the laughter that met his ears. It was clear that his torture brought the witch much delight.

After allowing him his pain, the witch’s hand once more approached his throat, though this time she did not strike a killing blow. Instead, she hoisted him high, choking the air from his lips. And as he grabbed at her hands, gasping for but a breath, he felt her shove something into his eye sockets. Something cold and solid, like a stone.

“Now this will hurt…” She spoke with a delighted hiss.

And then a searing pain beyond anything Avii had ever experienced pierced his mind. An agony so beyond awful that it burned white hot in the forefront of the man’s very consciousness until darkness finally took him. But again, he was not unconscious. Instead, he saw something through a ruby-tinted gaze.

What he saw were flashes of moments. Brief and scattered. First, there was a room surrounded by golems. They towered tall and looked his way, acknowledging his presence but doing little to stop his approach.

His vision shifted, and he saw a labyrinth tile beside him, glowing bright with magic. From a nearby passage, golems marched into the space, stepping atop the tiles before disappearing. They approached at regular intervals. Every minute, more would show up and vanish.

Then he saw an altar covered in runes and crystals that reminded him of the inside of his armour. Colours flashed in a coded sequence, drawing his attention. He pressed them in order and in an instant, the golems stopped moving.

Then came the feeling of being watched. Being stalked. His vision went black, and when it came back to, he was again before the panel. Blood was sprayed across runes. Runes that again flashed, revealing a second sequence. He began to press it, but then his vision went black again.

A moment later, the image quaked as he stared at the ceiling. He held his necklace up. Staring at the crystal and the locket. Then the ground split and the room collapsed overtop him.

“Gyaaah!” Avii gasped, sitting up with a start, struggling to catch his breath. “Tyuh—tyuh!”

Reaching for his brow, Avii rubbed at his face. He felt at his shut eyelids, his fingers pressing against the soft pressure of squishy orbs beneath. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, realizing he could see. So, without a moment to waste, he looked over his body, feeling again at his neck and chest and face, confirming once more that he was whole.

“Avii?” Ostave spoke up from nearby. “Avii, are you awake?”

“Ostave?”

“Oh, thank the heavens. I feared you’d never return to me.”

Avii turned his head to the side, where he met Ostave’s curious expression being illuminated by the glow of his MULE. The man stared at him strangely. His head cocked to the side as he took in Avii’s person with a suspicious glance. Nervously, the orc reached out to touch the man’s face but stopped short. Drawing his hand back, his expression shifted to worry.

“What?” Avii asked, rubbing at his eyes as they adjusted to the dim glow of the MULE. “What is it?”

“Your eyes.” The knight replied quickly. “Your hair. What happened while I was out that would do this to you?”

“Do what to me?”

“Make you look so…unholy. Your eyes—their irises…they’re as red as ruby. Your hair, white as bone. And that’s not all. The scars that covered you, they’re gone. And your form, full and fed as though you’d never missed a meal. How did this happen?”

Placing a hand behind his neck, Avii rubbed at his shoulder. With a gasp, he reached deeper, feeling at the flesh of his upper back. The lash marks from his years of slavery were gone. More than that, the ache in his poorly-set bones had vanished. Whatever magic the witch had used to ‘fix’ him had done more than enough. More than any healing he had ever experienced.

Though, at the cost of his eternal soul, it was yet to be determined if it had been worth it. But, for the time being at least, he was pleased that he had once more been given a functioning body. A second chance at life, for however long it was.

Avii looked to Ostave and his still frail form. Whatever blessing he had been given had not transferred to the orc, but even so there wasn’t a single bit of ill will in the man’s gaze. No jealousy or envy. Just concern. There was no doubt that the man was confused by the turn of events, but he seemed more worried than anything for Avii and his sudden increase in vitality.

“Worry not, Knight,” Avii replied, providing as reassuring a smile as he could muster before placing his hand to the orc’s shoulder. “What matters is that we both live and that we have been given passage forward.”

“Passage?” Ostave gasped as he looked up from his seat. “But how?”

“Try not to worry yourself on it, Ostave,” Avii answered, looking over the abyssal chasm that stretched before him. "Just trust that for the time being we will be left alone."

That was when he saw it. The faint glow of crystals full of magic and ripe for the harvest. Crystals much like the ones Avii would have found in the heart of the mountain. They stood out from a particular entrance a mile or two beneath them and on the opposite side of the gap. And with the sight, an itch came to the back of his mind, as though a beetle had crawled its way into his consciousness.

As much as he hated to admit it, he felt that the sight was a sign. A gift given by the witch to lead him along. To lead him to his mission so that he may return to her soon.

“Ostave,” Avii spoke up as he stepped back and entered his MULE. “Safe passage or not, it is best we make haste. I believe we have a bit of a climb ahead of us, and you have a family waiting for you at home.”