Your Own Medicine

The eldritch man remained unflinching as he wrapped his fingers around the glacial blade embedded into him. The dagger’s form gradually reduced into tiny flakes of ice that dissipated into the air. “No ice can hurt me. What exactly were you hoping to accomplish with this ineffective act? A foolish reaction of emotion that cost you all of that hard work.”

Zulema teetered backwards, a look of angry desperation on her face. “Regardless of how long it takes, I will end you someday.”

“You and I are connected now, Orphan of Macha,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Ending me would end you as well.”

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"As of now, you can barely stand." Derleth turned and faced his home. "Take form of that blade once more and use it to survive rather than give in to your deep-seated wrath."

Zulema watched quietly as he walked away, an expression of uncertainty was all she could convey. She looked at the dead animal beside her, wondering how many of her allies befell the same fate. As of now, he was right in his assessment. She had to build up her strength if she were to attempt to do anything. What mattered was that she was still alive and with that, there was hope for the future—as uncertain as it might be.

The dim night sky stretched over the bleak, dark landscape as the sun had finally set. With so many clouds overhead, the stars in the heavens remained obscured once more. Finding the strength to finally stand, the priestess's feet crunched over the icy ground, her icy breath mixed with the frosty air around her. The chill wind was no longer an uncomfortable sensation to her as she adjusted to the new way her body worked. The only thing that hurt now was the icy grip of grief that clutched at her heart.

A sharp pain cut through her as her tears froze solid over her cheeks. Was the ice around her getting colder or was it her body? The priestess wiped them away, only to feel another sharp stab of grief as the memories of everything she’s been through came flooding back. She focused the pain from those memories, using them for a greater purpose.

Zulema held out her hands above her head, her eyes closed tight in concentration. A soft glow illuminated the air in front of her, and the cold, hard air suddenly turned into a strange feeling not unlike warmth. A gentle breeze passed over her skin, soothing the priestess and helping to calm her racing thoughts. She focused on the pain, letting it consume her as her emotions came spilling out into the world. Tears ran down her cheeks, only this time they did not freeze. The priestess felt a wave of comfort wash over her as the ice around her melted away and its sparkling waves ran down her arms, building itself in her hands. Her focus waned for a moment, and the light around her began to fade. So she focused harder and the dim icy glow returned. Ice crackled in her hand as its form bent and molded into something sharp, yet it did not break. She could feel a strange source of power flowing through it. A power she wasn’t sure belonged to herself of the stranger that had cursed her with it. She opened her eye slowly and gazed at the still incomplete object in her hand taking shape. Her concentration continued and she willed the glacial object to take a more familiar form. Ice continued building and extending out, the weapon elongating into first a staff then curving out further into a blade. She could see the weapon carved itself into a shape similar to the scythe she once wielded. The inky night sky reflected beautifully off the clear blade of ice. Though it looked cold to the touch, the weapon felt like a natural extension of herself. The icy blade glimmered with a power she had never felt before, and the grip was just as comfortable in her hands as the scythe had once been. While the new weapon had been crafted completely from the icy air, it still had the sharpness and speed required for lethality.

Zulema exhaled an icy breath, feeling accomplished at her work. She examined her newly formed weapon and gazed into the reflection of the glacial scythe’s blade. The priestess could finally see herself again, along with the damage that had been done to her during her last battle. She noticed the white bandage that wrapped itself around the side of her head and missing eye was stained red with blood. Her face was ghostly white and her freckles almost invisible. The girl gasped in astonished horror when she saw that her familiar onyx hair was streaked with a long ivory stripe. The revelation caused her to hurl her scythe in surprise. Losing the mystical connection it had to its owner, the frozen weapon crumbled rapidly, joining with the rest of the snow.

“Fuck.”