Unreal Cyn

I have to thank Leon_Ux-ixen for allowing me to use his fantastic poem - “Unspoken Truth of My Heart” for this fic. It inspired me as did John Keats "To Hope" before and I hope that I can do that inspiration justice. I hope that you folks enjoy this first installment! Chapter 1!

Obsidian

The blue skies covered by dark clouds,
The sun eclipsed by the dark moon,
The glistening ocean gone from my view:
The glow of the stars no longer shines through my eyes.

The unsung pain in my heart,
The silence a horrible opera in my ears,
The tears running down my face;
I feel so alone.
~ Leon_Ux-ixen 'Unspoken Truth of My Heart'


Rebirth

“I just told you – Rin has fallen man!”

“When?! Answer me, damn you! When?!” the younger man pressed.

“Not two days ago.” The bedraggled man sighed with despair, “The Charr…I think they killed everyone.”

“Oh…Goddess!” the younger man sobbed, clutching his brother. All of his limbs suddenly became jelly, and his vision blurred. Rin has fallen…Ma, Dad…no…!

In his mind’s eye he could see them still, as they were before the Searing, before the war. Back when flowers still blossomed on green trees and the lands smelled of the perfume of daffodils and pine. But that was many months ago. How did they look now? The images of his mother and father suddenly – horribly – changed, burning, rotting, melting.

He should never have left them…but…how could he have known?

“Thanks.” His brother replied after a while. His grief-ridden eyes were filled with tears and steamed with anger. “That settles it, Farrion,” he said, turning to face his younger brother as the messenger ambled off, “We’re going to Rin. We’re going to kill these f**king Charr!”

Farrion stared long at his brother. For a monk, he was a strong man; thick muscles curled about his shoulders and neck, and even as he clenched his fists in fury, large veins popped across the surface of his tanned and half-burnt skin. But his face…it was drawn and gaunt; haunted. It seemed that in only a few short weeks the gods had taken everything from him.

“Karak, it is suicide.” Farrion said numbly. Vengeance hollered for a bold march west, to free Rin, but Farrion tried to let his cooler head prevail. It would be foolishness if the two last Neightswifts perished. Whatever they did would never bring their parents, their cousins, or anyone else that they had lost, back.

“What the f**k are you saying?!” Karak hissed back, “We have nothing to lose! Nothing!”

In that moment Farrion realised that his brother had grown despairingly desperate. The big monk was bordering on sheer insanity – a man with nothing to lose was society’s greatest bane.

“Karak, listen to me. Ma and Dad would not want us to throw our lives away…like that. We are but two and none of us is even so much as a ranger. How do you expect us to survive this devastated country and the tens of thousands of Charr out there?”

His older brother grabbed him by the collar fiercely, “I can heal, damn you. I…I can…we can….”

Farrion held his brother’s arms and tugged them from his stranglehold. “We can’t do anything right now. We….” He glanced around at the tumbling shells of buildings around him; at the panic-stricken men and women that walked aimlessly about the dead earth, like zombies. “We are too weak.”

“I am not weak!!” Karak cursed, looking around like a madman. He found a thick length of charred wood close at hand and broke it in two. He cast the shards to the dusty earth in a rage.

“The Charr are not that easy, man. If we rush out there, we would share the same fate as that piece of wood.” Farrion’s head began to ache, but he had to make Karak listen to reason. “We’re not alone…others…lost somebody at…Rin. Maybe we…could…join a guild?”

“Damn the guilds to hell! They’re the reason for all this shit!” Karak was screaming now, “Why did you take every RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GOing thing from me!” He hollered at the blackened sky, “Why Diana?! Why Rin?! Why Ascalon?!”

Farrion clasped his hand against Karak’s shoulder, “You still have me, brother.”

The tall monk broke down completely then. “I still have you.” He sobbed, grabbing Farrion in one giant bear hug, “We’re all that’s left.”



Farrion’s head ached. Why was it still hurting so badly? His eyes burnt, yet he could see nothing. He was alone with his pain and his darkness. Was he dreaming?

We’re all that’s left.

That sounded familiar. Where had he heard that before? Who had said it?

Clink.

Clop.

What was that noise? Why did that sound familiar? Why was his head hurting so f**king bad?

Clink.

A ripple of pain pulsed through his extremities; from his legs and flowing up into his shoulders and arms. Fire seemed to burn in every sinew, banishing the sense of cold numbness. His head throbbed as though each thought caused him pain.

Clop.

Was that a rumbling against his back? He could not be sure. All he could feel was the fire in his veins and the pain in his head. There was nothing else; only the void. There was no light, no feeling, no hope of return. His thoughts, erratic as they were, coalesced into a single, coherent sentence, which somehow escaped his lips:

“Is this death?”

Only more pain answered him, intense pain that continued to assault every last fibre of his being. Is this death? Is this death? Is this… Suddenly a wave of freezing cold washed over him, like the crisp waters from the snowmelt of the Shiverpeaks. A liquid – searing cold – poured into his mouth and it filled every orifice on his body. He cough-choked, and felt the insides of his body churn and spasm like the waves of the sea.

At that instant he felt no pain, and heard nothing. For a moment, he regained all sense of feeling and thought, so acute that it was agonizing. He was suddenly aware that he was standing at the edge of a colossal precipice. Before him yawned a pit so vast and deep that its terminus was lost in impenetrable darkness. The darkness tugged on him with a gravity of its own. Farrion stood transfixed at the very edge, staring in.

Then from the darkness came a voice, quiet yet clear.

“Farrion.”

The Mesmer stared long and hard into the darkness. From its depths there arose a pale figure, its form translucent and shimmering. It floated on nothing, and its cold black eyes bore into Farrion like an iron drill. Farrion recognised the apparition, but he looked different. The rough mask was gone, as were the gloves and the drab rangers-wear. He stopped some ways from the precipice and beckoned to Farrion.

“Bones.” Farrion said. Yes. That sounds familiar. Memory lingered on the edge of Farrion’s grasp, but he could not reach it.

“Come.” The shade of Bones replied, “There is something that you must see.”

Unthinkingly, Farrion stepped across the threshold and into the vast pit. With a gasp he hurtled headfirst through the darkness, cold wind whipping at his face. He grabbed out in every direction, hoping to catch something, anything that would break his fall, but there was nothing but the darkness.

Then, the darkness melted away. On every side and below him, Farrion could see a landscape taking shape, from formless dark masses to trees and grassland, rivers and seas, villages and giant cities. He was rushing over the landscape, as quick as a gale, seeing everything. Burning deserts and petrified seas passed in seconds. Then suddenly he slowed, hovering over a sparse forest that was broken by large statues of grim faced men.

Off to his right a city bustled at the water’s edge. A cacophony of voices filled his ears, and the smell of fish and earth and fruit filled his nostrils. A massive fleet was making port at the harbour; hundreds of main sails billowed in the stiff western breeze. The ships, more resembling giant swans or krackens, glided through the calm waters like wraiths. It was a breathtakingly beautiful sight, but Farrion could not help but feel that something was wrong.

At the helm of the flagship stood two figures. Farrion was carried closer, and their faces became strikingly clear. One was a man, clad in a white robe, embroidered in gold. A bejewelled white-gold crown sat on his head. In his right hand he clutched something, but Farrion could not make out what. Beside him stood a striking, bombshell of a woman. Just looking at her made every organ in Farrion’s body jump and tremble with primal desire. Her body was perfect. The way her jet-black hair curled about her neck and fell about her back was perfect. Her sinuous lips and every other feature of her perfect face were…perfect.

But her eyes…her eyes held Farrion the longest. They were slanted and ravishing, but they were queer. They shimmered like orbs of fire.

The scene was swept away, and in a few seconds replaced with a burning and tortured landscape. Two massive armies collided on that vista, even as burning ash and meteors rained down from the heavens. Voices once again filled his ears, but now they were screaming in agony and chanting powerful spells the likes of which Farrion had never before seen. Again Farrion saw the man and the woman, in the thick of battle. The man wielded a black longsword, but it was from his bare hands that his damage came. Tongues of black flame stretched from them, consuming entire legions. The woman was a weapon entirely of her own. Nothing but death rained from her hands and eyes. Huge, blackened shapes rose from the battered earth, falling upon men and women without prejudice.

Again the scene changed, another one taking its place. There again was the man, surrounded by unspeakable destruction, but he was bound in chains. Darkness and evil itself radiated from his body like heat. He held his head between his hands, but Farrion could still feel his gaze – sharp and disturbing. Suddenly he looked up, directly at the Mesmer.

“Farrion?” He said.

And then he was gone. Darkness returned in an instant and again Farrion stood facing Bones at the edge of the precipice.

“You have to stop them.”

“How?”

“You will know. I could not guide you to them, but this much I can do.”

“Bones. What…what happened to you?”

“I failed.”

Pain returned as Bones and the gaping pit vanished from Farrion’s vision. The fire scorched away all his flesh and muscle, leaving him bare and in utter agony. Just when he thought that he would forever burn, he opened his eyes, and a youthful face filled his vision.

“Oh, thank the gods!” the young man gasped, embracing Farrion weakly. The faint glimmer of the resurrection signet hanging from a chain around his neck cast a pale light on the area close at hand. “I’m so glad this worked! I thought you were too far gone, but…but I just had to try!”

Farrion sputtered incoherently for a short while before he was able to speak, “Hea…Heavens?”

“Yes! Farrion, it’s me!” the elementalist sounded ecstatic, but his face was drawn and tired, and his flesh was as pale as milk.

A multitude of thoughts crammed into Farrion’s head at that point, making coherent thought impossible. He could not assess the situation, could not explain what had just happened, and he could not remember what had happened before. The vision of the man, at the helm of that beautiful flagship still lingered before his eyes.

“I…I think we’re all that’s left, Farrion! All that’s left!” Heavens broke down in heart-wrenching sobs of despair. “I…I…couldn’t find the others! What are we…gonna do?!”

Farrion could not answer him. He had finally recognised the man, as memory flooded back in a cascade of terrible sounds and images. Cyn. Oh gods. What happened?

It was too much to think about. Farrion’s head hurt so badly that he thought that it was splitting open at the seams. He collapsed back to the ground, falling once more into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.

We’re all that’s left.

Unreal Cyn

Last week of exams and here's Chapter 2! Thank you all for your views!

Erudite’s Hill

Thin, misty rain blanketed the shallow ravine in a still, white soup. The relentless raindrops gently ground the hard earth into rivers of swirling mud and ash. Dark clouds hung low in the permanently crimson sky, like vultures. The rain doused the fire gutted ruins beneath; the fallen towers and burnt out shells of houses and storerooms, the charred and broken remains of bones.

One thing moved. A long, burgundy flag affixed to a tall pole at the highest point in the bowl-shaped ravine furled and curled in the occasional wind. Even drenched with rain and disfigured by ash and blood, the flag still flew; defiant, rising above the layer of mist – like a singular ‘f**k you’ to a cruel world.

“Don’t let the flag fall on Erudite’s Hill.” His guild-leader’s voice echoed in his head for the umpteenth time. As foolish as that command was, he quietly prayed that it would not be for the last time.

His guild had long ago broken up into many groups of four or six, scattering about the burning remnants of their Guildhall and the tiny surrounding settlement to try to stave off the invading armada. He had not seen anyone from the other groups in days. Probably dead, or dying; burned alive by the Charr.

He cast the sky a furtive glance, taking in the crimson-coloured expanse, dressed in several layers of black, churning clouds. The sun failed to shine here, but a hazy-red glow permeated to the twisted earth below. Acrid smoke choked his lungs and, mingling with the slow drizzle, filled his mouth with a vile taste.

“Something’s coming! Quickly, take cover!” Vinessa whispered frantically from somewhere in the gloomy mist.

He and his two companions bounded into a ruined storeroom close at hand, taking up defensive positions behind fallen, blackened walls. Vinessa squeezed into a corner with him. She was drenched and shivering and in need of a bath – as was everyone – but he felt immediately at ease as her warm body pressed against his.

“What’re they?” he breathed, gripping his dagger. Arrows had long ago been spent, recovered and re-spent.

“I’m not sure. Charr, I think. Now shush, Heli!” she replied, wrapping both hands around her longsword. It was a fantastic sword, lined with runes and counter-runes of power and luck, but it was a shame that Vinessa had no expertise with them.

Heli sighed and glanced across at the other members of his four-part company. Here, in the laughable shelter of a half-blasted storeroom, he could see everyone more or less clearly; Chris, the assassin, held his daggers professionally, though his frantic eyes exposed the fear that consumed him. Harclyde, the pot-bellied elementalist, regarded their hideout with disdain, through his one eye. The other had been gouged out during a desperate battle not so long ago. A bloody wad of cloth was stuffed into the gaping hole, and though it dripped blood and liquid ash and must have hurt like hell, Harclyde took it with balls that must have been at least as big as the tallest Shiverpeaks.

Everyone was weak and tired; energy spent, and it was only through sheer will, could most of them stand. As a ranger Heli was the fittest of the four, and most times it was only him that stood between the raging Charr bands and his company. But he too was weakening, and as much as he tried, he could not push away the memories of that night four days ago, when the Charr had suddenly appeared and put his friends and guildmates to the sword.

Now all was still.

The rain seemed muted and appeared not to fall, like frozen pikes of water suspended over the earth.

The crunch of wet, burned grass beneath boots abruptly sounded close by, and it grew louder and louder until suddenly, seven massive shapes lumbered past the crumbled window close to where Heli and Vinessa hid. Charr Blade-Warriors. One stopped and sniffed the air, tentatively. Heli could not see the beast in its entirety, but he could make out thick drops of mucus and water pouring from its flared nostrils. Heli’s breath caught in his lungs.

Melandru. Is this finally the end?

Then the Charr grunted, and they moved on, trudging through the mud, ash and bones. A watery silence returned, ushered in with loud, thick thunderclaps that rocked the sky.

“What’s the next move, Vin?” His eyes roved about the storeroom, scoping their virtually non-existent defence.

“I…I don’t know.” She sounded exasperated, “We’re the only ones left, Heli!”

That’s been the case for the past couple ah days. “Then I suggest we leave this place. Ain’t no use dying fuh nuttin’.”

“But we can’t let the flag fall! Reinforcements will come only if they see the flag! We have to keep the Charr at bay!” Vinessa continued to shiver, and she frantically groped the hilt of her sword, as if seeking solace in its touch.

“The Charr’ve won here, Vin.”

She gazed up at him, then. Her eyes were so full of stark horror and desperation that it cut Heli down to his soul. Despite what she said and even with all of the encouragements that she gave, he knew that Vinessa knew the truth. No reinforcements are coming. Yet they must keep hope alive somehow. For what indeed was Man without hope?

“Gods!” Vinessa cursed, small tears trickling down her bloodied face.

She seemed so small in her battered and mismatched armour. For a moment it seemed as though she was nothing more but skin, bones and steel plate; rotting away into nothingness. Heli massaged his tired and bloodshot eyes and rested an aching arm around her shoulders. He surely smelled like a bear himself, and his armour was barely more than leather strips hanging over over-worked muscles.

“Don’t let’em see you cry, Vin. You’re our leader – you’ve gotta be strong.” Heli gently grasped her face. She’s so beautiful. Gods, this shouldn’t have to be her end! But the world was cruel. The evil, the stupid and even the sacrilegious all seemed to get their way, while the humble, the poor, the frail and even the gifted got nothing but pain and suffering.

“You know I suck at leading people, Heli,” she whispered, “You were always better than me at this – it’s only because of you that were still alive.”

“Then listen to me then. Let’s haul ass outta hey.”

“What about all those Charr, Heli?! We can’t possibly get past them! Even if we do, we’re in the middle of nowhere! Without supplies we’ll die before we see the Wall again!”

Heli cursed silently. Somewhere, deep down inside, he knew that she was right. What chance did four half-dead guildmates have against an army of bloodthirsty Charr? What were the odds of survival some hundred miles north of the Wall?

“How did it come to this? How did it come to this!?” Vinessa sobbed, hugging herself, “I don’t want to die, Heli.” She added softly. But her whispers spoke volumes upon volumes.

The tired ranger looked back up at the other men in his team. They could not hear what was being said, but even though they only had three eyes between them, they were not blind. Vinessa was not going to lead them anywhere anytime soon.

Maybe in his mind he had always known that this would happen. That he would have to take up that mantle of leadership that he had hoped never to wield again. A sardonic smile almost touched his lips. I get to lead the way to my death.

How did it ever come to this?

Two years as part of a suicidal attempt to rout the Charr from their breeding grounds past the Wall. Two thousand of the most foolhardy men ever to live had volunteered to go north, splitting into two factions and heading into different areas. Sure his faction had stumbled across a small human-slave settlement – one of the places where the Charr brought their live victims. The surrounding hills were rich in iron and gems; ripe for slaves to mine. And sure they had managed a few hard-won victories against the Charr. But what was it all worth in the end?

His parents had been fried in the Searing, and the brothers he had never known had vanished. He had heard rumours about them, tall tales of how they had saved Tyria, how they threw down the White Mantle and stopped undead from roaming unchecked in the lands. Heli did not want such glories. All he wanted was revenge, on those that had killed his family – albeit the family that probably did not even know he existed.

My revenge was never complete.

“Charr coming from the west!” Harclyde whispered frantically, “They’ll see us!”

Heli peered through the fallen western wall, and could barely make out large, moving shapes, dark against the reddish and mist-filled environs. They were close, too damn close for comfort.

“What’ll we do?” Vinessa asked him. She had stopped shivering, but her eyes were hollow; like the gaze of someone going to the gallows.

He glanced at her, and then at the others. Their shoulders sagged and their breaths came in long, slow draughts. Their eyes were distant, and hopelessness wafted from them like body odour. They had nothing left in them. Regardless of which path he took, it really was the end.

“We keep that flag flying.” For what is Man without hope? “We’ll defend it until help comes. Erudite’s Hill isn’t that far away.” He rose and peered through the crumbled window. He could not exactly see the flag, but the pole still stood tall and could be seen through the mist.

With surges of fresh adrenaline, the company raced away from the storeroom and made their way to the Hill. Ironically, the same mist that had shielded the Charr advance just four days ago shielded them now from the beasts’ sight.

Through the ruins and past the broken and rusting armour of dead guildmates they went, ever upwards, to the tall pole on Erudite’s Hill. Eventually they made it, and for just a moment, they could see the entire mist-filled ravine – like a bowl of curdled milk – stretching out below and around them. The flag still blew in the quickening breeze, but all around lay the mangled bodies of several of Heli’s guildmates.

There had been a slaughter here, and it was recent.

“Dwayna have mercy! No wonder this flag is still flying! It’s a deathtra––.” Harclyde’s words were cut short as arrows pierced his throat and cranium. His suddenly lifeless body squirmed to the mushy ground, like some giant, one-eyed earthworm.

In a moment, scores of Charr clustered around the Hill, advancing. Arrows suddenly rained from the sky, turning Chris into a pin-cushion and sending Heli and Vinessa to the ground. The ranger covered them with a large oval shield close at hand, even as the realisation of the utter cunning of the Charr crashed down upon him like a physical blow.

They kept the flag flying. Lure all of us here – and kill us.

Heli grabbed hold of Vinessa and the wooden flag-post with his free arm on the way down, even as Charr closed in. The dead gazed at them in mute pity; their eyes frozen open and the gaping mouths forever locked in desperate screams. Screams that the mist and the rain were sure to have smothered.

The ranger glanced up at the water-drenched body of the first Charr that reached them and held Vinessa close to his chest. The beast raised its massive sword with expert prowess, and from underneath its steel helm Heli could make out two blazing eyes that regarded them with nothing but the starkest of hate.

He did not hear Vinessa whimper or feel her shiver.

“What is Man without hope?” He spat. Darkness came with the fall of the Charr’s sword.

Shadowfrost

Great job! Although i'm extremely fond of books, your writing sometimes confuses me. However, it's so good that I don't mind reading it over and over again. Don't make your story less complicated because of me though!

If i had to give it a rating out of 10, it would have to be 10/10

Keep going!

Isaac Rahl

Excellent job!!! The sequel is just as good as Crystal so far. I can't wait to find out what part Farrion plays in this one. He's one of my favorite characters.

Princess Blades

Excellent! I'm definitely hooked. Keep up the good work.

__________________
Great deeds are usually wrought at great risks.
Herodotus (484 BC - 430 BC)

divinechancellor

I look forward to reading this one

However, I do oppose the usage of a ressurection signet in your story =/
IMO if mhenlo had a rez sig, im sure he would shrug when togo is murdered by shiro, and proceed to rez him.
Or ruik, when he dies: rez him XD
i dunno, maybe you'll suprise me again: i could be wrong

Unreal Cyn

Hey again everyone and belated happy new year's greetings from the Caribbean! I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays, and I trust that you cricket-lovers out there have your tickets for the World Cup coming this year right here in my home! Thanks everyone for your comments, views and crits so far, and I'm glad that you're enjoying this. I couldn't spend much time on this fic as I would have liked, for I was working on other important writing projects that I've been delaying. Anyway, I did pretty well in my exams and now I'm back with Chapter 3 and I hope you like it!

Embers


He blinked, yet tears, sweat and blood still clouded his vision. He struggled to breathe; his lungs seemed almost too weary to take in air. His muscles burned with exhaustion – every movement ignited a new tendon with pain. Yet he forced himself to stand. His right arm dangled like a loose vine at his side; numb, bloody and almost useless.

In the light of all that had happened; the utter silence of the cavern was unnerving. Just minutes ago every rock had trembled under a vicious earthquake, but now all was still. And all was quiet. The sharp intake of breath before a dive? Or the final sigh at the end of all things? He did not know. He could not think clearly anymore.

He ambled over to a grizzled beast not too far away, whose horror-filled eyes reflected his own.

“Habib…did…did you just see what happened?” Big Charr exclaimed.

“Yes and no.” He replied, “I saw it, but I don’t believe what I saw. That’s not true seeing is it?”

The Charr shook his head. “I’m not one for all those technical philosophies, Habib.” He motioned to the man sprawled out on the ground before him, “Something’s seriously wrong with this one.”

Habib realised that it was Karak who lay at the tip of the Charr’s sword. The young warrior’s breaths were fast, and his eyes gazed around at the darkling environs with hatred. Those finally came to rest on Habib, and Karak smiled.

“So, you have failed.” Karak said.

Habib was startled, for he not only heard Karak’s voice, but at least two others. And as he looked at the warrior, his countenance seemed to shift, to blur and melt. Where there was only one face, Habib could make out three – two in apparent torment and one grinning as pure fire burnt in its eyeballs.

“Something’s definitely wrong with him. Shackle him if you can Charr. I’ll see how the women are doing. Maybe they can explain just what the hell happened to Cyn.”

Leaving the Charr to his work, Habib made his way to the centre of their campsite, where Heather and Karissa sat silently, still staring at the spot where Cyn and that striking woman had just been moments ago. He stooped next to Heather and rested his left hand around her shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

It took her a while to realise that he was next to her, and far more time to actually respond. “The demon took him.” Her voice was soft, and her shoulders slumped; defeated.

“Ja’al? But that thing was supposed to be male, wasn’t it? And huge and ugly.”
“All just different faces of the same monster. You just assumed it was male.”

“Then why would it…she…want Cyn? I think there’s something here that you’re not telling me, Heather.”

She glanced up at him then, and her eyes were running with tears. “It doesn’t matter any more, does it? Everything’s gone wrong, Habib! He’s gone. Ja’al won!”

Habib remembered the dying words of the only man he had ever looked to as a leader. Before he had been ordered to leave him, Bones had told him not to fail. That he could not fail – too much was at stake. I don’t think I’ve failed even now. Tyria had not been destroyed just yet, and there was still breath in his lungs – and so there was still time enough to succeed.

“Tell me everything, Heather. The cat is out of the bag, and secrecy is no longer an option. We were all brought together for this, I feel, and we can only get through this with information.”

Suddenly she rose to her feet and glared down at him. “It’s all pointless Habib, all pointless. Bones, Tsuki, Heavens and…and Farrion,” her voice caught, “all died for nothing. What is there to get through? All hope is gone, man. There’s nothing stopping Ja’al now that she has Cyn.”

“All hope is not lost. We ––.”

“Can do what, eh?” Heather clenched her fists and raised her voice, “We’re not gods! We can’t kill demons!”

Habib slowly got to his feet. The pain in his arm sought to consume him, but with great effort he pushed it out of his psyche. Why is Heather acting like this? He studied her intently, silently. She’s not regressing to a vampire again, is she? My arm still burns from her bite. But whatever the reason, there was truth in what she said. No mortal could actually kill a demon. Or at least Habib believed so. And to imprison Ja’al again might only delay the inevitable.

So that means…we have to destroy the Key.

“She lies.” A soft voice said from off to Habib’s left.

He turned thence and saw Karissa stooping over the dead figure of Normire. She held something in her hands, but Habib could not tell what. A strange, pale light grew from between her clasped fingers. Her gaze was fixed on Normire’s pale face.

“We can get rid of Ja’al once and for all.” She continued.

“Shut the f**k up, you!” Heather screamed. A blind rage seemed to suddenly consume her. Drawing a dagger she dashed to Karissa with murderous intent. Habib barely had enough presence of mind to grab her and clutch the cursing, struggling woman to his chest.

“Let me go! Every word she says is a lie!” Heather screamed. Her voice resounded through the now quiet cavern with a sharp, uncanny quality. Habib flinched at the breaking of the almost complete silence.

“Give her a chance. Since you don’t want to say anything, let her have her turn.” The big warrior was suddenly overcome by a strange feeling of nostalgia as the words left his mouth. He felt his age again, and for just a moment, his mind imagined that he was back amidst the wheat and barley fields, straining joyously in the summer-sun, with his children frolicking and playing around him.
Still now he could hear their voices, if he listened close and long enough. Such innocence. Such bright futures. Such fear as the sky went red and death rained from the heavens.

No time for memories. The future is at hand. Painfully, he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind.

Karissa’s focus never left Normire, and when she spoke it seemed that she was reciting a tale long rehearsed, “Cyn is from the Mists. There he was tasked with the imprisonment of the Ja’al demon, who resided on a plane parallel to our own. He took his best team, of which Heather was a part. They were barely victorious, and Cyn took something of Ja’al’s to act as a key to her prison. It was one of her eyes.”

She glanced across at Habib’s concern-creased face, as he tried to no avail to make sense of what she had just said. Karissa did not deign to explain, she simply continued, “But what no one knows is that Ja’al also took something of Cyn’s.”

To Habib, it seemed as though Karissa was fighting some massive will – one that was indomitable in its strength, yet invited contest. She fought against truth. But the truth of what?

“What did she take?”

“His heart.” Those two words had the effect of the final nail in a coffin, before it is thrust six feet below the earth. Karissa slumped and sighed despairingly.

“She wants him, and she loves him deeply. I don’t know how or why. And it doesn’t matter. Cyn himself is the key. When Ja’al was imprisoned, she left a lot of her…darkness in Cyn, as a parting gift, but poisonous like venom. They’re connected now, and their bond will only get deeper and deeper.”

“So, you’re trying to say that Cyn is making Ja’al stronger.”

“Yes, but Ja’al is fresh from her prison is not yet that strong. She will depend on Cyn greatly for now. But if we…if we take…Cyn out of the picture….”

Heather’s struggling grew more desperate as Habib’s one-handed hold on her quickly failed. Oh Gods! I can’t hold her!

“Easy, Heather! Easy! Let her speak!”

Karissa’s hands began to move over Normire’s body, her fingers glowing with a pale light. What the hell is she doing to the man?

“I love him, you know,” Karissa continued, oblivious to Heather, “But he’s too far gone now. Too far. He was always so preoccupied with her…always making plans to prevent her escape. I thought…that maybe if I freed the demon, some brave Tyrian would somehow manage to slay her. And I could have Cyn to myself.” She smiled weakly, as tears coursed down her face onto the battered corpse of Normire below her. “Stupid, I know. I was desperate, and he was one of the few who showed me genuine kindness. I could see the poison in him, driving him. But I’m so hollow, now. So hollow.”

Her voice fell to a whisper of garbled words as Heather violently broke free from Habib and charged like a mad thing at her prone form.

In that instant Habib felt a shiver surge through his body, and suddenly it looked as though Heather was trudging through the thickest clay; the very air around her seemed to solidify. Karissa turned to glare at the vampire, but she did nothing to escape or to defend herself.

A vision flashed before Habib’s eyes; Karissa was a marble statue, unmoving, but with eyes of fire, and Heather was a charging beast, large and grey.

Then the vision passed and Heather bounded into Karissa in fury, ripped her head back with the locks of her hair and jabbed the dagger against her throat.
“To the Underworld with you, abomination!”

But a pale hand, with a grip the strength of the jaws of a sandworm, flew out and caught Heather’s blade. All eyes turned to the ground, to the corpse of Normire.

He was on his side, trying to rise to his feet. A pale light lingered around him, like tendrils of protecting arms reluctant to let him go. What the hell did she do to him? Karissa has more than arms up her sleeves it seems.

From the first time Habib had laid eyes on him he assumed that Normire was indeed a necromancer, but now the man seemed that and so much more. It seemed that, coming now from the bloody clutches of Death, Grenth himself had imprinted some cold and evil brand on his soul. As though summoned with a thought, a chill settled on the cavern. Mist gathered at Habib’s flared nostrils.

With a gaze that froze her breath, Normire looked upon Heather. His hand still clutched that sharp blade, and bled, but it seemed that the necromancer felt nothing.

“Stop.” Mist streamed from his mouth like smoke from the gut of a volcano. “Do not kill the messenger. Cyn must die.”

shadow-violet

Awsome job...........next chapter please XD

Goats17

Woah, very nice Cyn. The only problem I can find is that these don't show up fast enough. The time it takes me to read a chapter is too fast compared to the time it takes you to write one. This one is amazing. Thanks for wanting to write this story.

Unreal Cyn

Thanks for your comments shadow and Goats! I'm truly sorry that I can't write as fast as I'd like to, but the story itself seems to coming to me in only fits and starts at the moment . However, thank you all for still reading and here's Chapter 4. Please enjoy!

Many Masques

Light climbed through the long, narrow windows of the hall; thin, misty beams of cold light that faded in and out with the passage of clouds. Tall colonnades hugged the walls on either side, and through their midst there ran a quick stream, quiet and clear. Strange plants grew here: crawling mosses, thorny, slimy bushes and drooping roses, bobbing in the still air. In some parts, where the stream rushed over large stones, one could see the reflection of the roof far off; a roof that was at times lost in a thick mist that hung in the air.

Cyn did not know where the hell he was.

An overwhelming sense of displacement overcame him, and he looked about for something, anything that his memory could latch onto. But there was nothing. He was all alone, in a long hall, standing ankle deep in a quick stream.

Maybe I should check the windows? Cyn strolled out of the stream, his bare feet leaving thin, watery prints on the cold hall floor. When he reached the window closest at hand, he gazed through and saw only light; shifting, swirling light. Light so pure that it banished even the notion of darkness.

He came away from the window, breathless. “What is this, for Melandru’s sake?”

Desperate, Cyn brought his attention on the stream. Now I have a choice, I guess? He wondered, Follow the stream’s current to its end, or go the other way to its source.

He glanced both ways and realised that they all seemed to go on forever. Where was he in relation to the stream anyway? Midway? Close to the end, or close to the source? But either way, he still could not come up with the answers to the two million-gold questions: Where am I? How did I get here?

As he thought this he found that his throat had become parched, so dry that swallowing was quickly becoming impossible. What the f**k?

He fell to his knees and cupped out some of the rushing water into his hands. He gulped it down and then, still parched; he ducked his whole head in the water and drank deeply.

The liquid felt good as it rushed down his throat. It tasted sweet, almost like cane-juice, but rich like red wine. It seemed to curl and uncoil as it hit his stomach, like it was alive. What sort of water is this? Cyn realised, as he took his head from the water that he was coming up with plenty questions, but no damn answers.

Finally satisfied, he sat down at the edge of the stream in dismay. He was lost, and the feeling of it permeated deep into his being. Never before had he been this lost. He was a ranger, for the gods’ sake, he knew how to get around.

“But how did I get here?” he found himself asking. His voice sounded gruff to him, tired. “How did I get here?”

It never occurred to him that he might be dead. Trapped in some endless hall for all eternity.

He sighed and buried his face in his hands and for the first time in his life, he sat motionless, waiting for something to happen. Some memory to come back to him, some clue, some sort of help.

The he glanced up and there was a wooden door across the stream before him, unadorned and closed. The wood was a deep ash colour, shot with red streaks that looked disturbingly like large, lidless eyes. As far as he could see, there was no handle or keyhole. Yet, despite this, Cyn had a sudden urge to jump across the stream and open the door. What lay behind it he did not know and could not guess, but the impulse was almost like a physical pull.

Unthinkingly, Cyn stepped into the stream and waded across. Waded, for suddenly it seemed that the water ran deeper and swifter. But then he was across it, gaping at the door without a handle. He almost reached out a hand and touched it.

“Wouldn’t you rather a walk?” said a voice from his immediate left.

Cyn’s concentration on the door was shattered like a crystal orb, and turning, he beheld a diminutive woman standing across the stream. She studied him with an air of suspicion, and what looked like nervousness.

“Who the hell are you?” It was not one of his ideal questions, but seeing as to nothing right seemed to be going on here, Cyn could not have cared less at the moment.

“I saw you staring at the door…I thought maybe you’d rather a walk for a bit, to clear your head.”

“I don’t want to walk. I want to get…out…of…here.”

She seemed to shiver and her eyes darted towards the door in what could have only been fear. What’s behind that door that’s she so afraid of? Cyn thought, Do I really want to know?

“Just a walk, Cyn. That’s all I’m asking.” The woman responded.

“How do you know my name?” Another answerless question.

She shrugged, “I don’t know. I can’t remember. I just want you to take a walk with me. Please.”

At that point she sounded so desperate that Cyn almost thought that she was asking for something else. And it was not any walk. But what do I have to lose? Maybe she’ll get me out of here, wherever here is.


“Alright. Whatever you want – I just need to get out of here.”

“Step back across the stream, then.” She offered her right hand to him, beckoning.

But Cyn could not move. All of a sudden he felt transfixed before the door; as though he were at the threshold of something so massive that he was not sure he had the guts or the balls to face. The stream, which had just minutes before been shallow and swift, now seemed as deep and unforgiving as the ocean. Before his very eyes foam-capped waves began to grow on the surface of the water, rising – hundreds? – of feet into the sky.

A storm was bristling. Loud thunder reverberated throughout the hall and everything was plunged into an uncanny sort of blue twilight. Beyond the churning stream…ocean….Cyn could still see the woman, hand outstretched, beckoning him to come across.

He felt a tug at his feet, and looking down he saw – clutching his foot – a pale hand, growing from the hall floor. All about his feet these hands were slipping upwards from the ground, grasping for him. There must have been scores of them, some pale, others jet black, many charred as if burnt. Many had no flesh at all. The whole scene reminded him of something…something he could not put his finger on, and Cyn shivered.

“I must be dreaming. Or I must be hallucinating.”

Even as the words left his mouth he felt an icy chill upon his back, and when he glanced over his shoulder he realised that the door had opened.

Behind it lay softly rolling hills and pastures, all speckled with bright flowers. Tall grasses and lofty oaks waved in the fragrant afternoon breeze, and the summer sun blazed happily in a crystal clear sky.

“Cyn, just cross the stream.” The woman said again.

Cyn turned back to face her, but her visage had changed dramatically. Flesh peeled from her face like melting wax, revealing a horrible obsidian skull that grinned at the ranger. Red orbs of fire burnt its hollow eye-sockets.

“Just cross the stream. A walk is all I ask.” It said.

On that side of the hall smoke began to settle. Horrible, nameless things flicked through that grey shroud, all about the melting, twisting figure of what had been the woman.

Cyn had never considered himself to be the sharpest arrowhead in the quiver, but he was not stupid enough to go through a churning length of water into the arms of what was evidently a demonic figure.

The door revealed a way out of this accursed hall, and Cyn was taking it.
Pulling free from the desperate hands that were clutching at his feet Cyn turned and virtually threw himself over the threshold of the door.

“Cyn, what are you doing? Don’t go through the door!”

For a moment he hung there, floating through space. He blinked and suddenly his vision changed. Blackened earth spilled over what had just been fields of flowers and grass. Flies swarmed over the sky, and horrible folk shambled on the desolate ground. Fluids trickled from their swollen limbs and heads, puss oozed from their bursting mouths. But behind them came a massive horde of…things. Tall they were, and fleshless. They had no eyes yet they saw all, no life, yet they moved, and shreds of clothes whipped about their thin frames.

They flocked over the waste, consuming even the sickening souls that trudged about before them. On they came. On and on. Endless hordes of those long dead. And Cyn was flying towards them.

“What the f**k have I just done?” Cyn cursed, but one cannot turn back around in midair, and as he passed the threshold, the door closed behind him.
And then he was gone.

The woman stood on the far side of the river, staring after him. The stream glistened like a thread of a spider’s web; shallow and swift. All was quiet and still, and the black door frowned at everything.

“There’s Death behind that door.” She said, even though Cyn would never hear it.


~ * ~


He woke to the sound of quiet singing close at hand. There was a shivering against his back, jarring his teeth every now and then. Crisp air filled his nostrils; air so pure that it seemed that any impurities had been burnt out in the hottest furnace.

Cyn opened his eyes and a low, wooden roof filled his vision. It appeared roughly made, unvarnished, yet the beams seemed strong enough and strangely flexible. He rose and found that he was covered in a thin, pale sheet, which seemed colder to the touch than warm. As his senses adjusted to the environs, Cyn thought that he was alone in this new place.

“Gave me quite a scare there, my dear,” She said, sitting next to him on the narrow seat and pressing a soft kiss upon his cheek.

Her lips burnt as though glossed with acid and suddenly Cyn’s senses came rushing back to him in a torrential flood. He jerked away from her and found himself hugging the wooden wall off to the side, heart racing and head exploding.

“Try and stay calm, your body hasn’t caught itself yet,” she said again, moving closer and playing with his hair.

Cyn felt as though his insides were all freezing, then melting, then growing now shrinking. A patchwork of unrecognisable images flashed across his eyes and memories of voices from people he once knew sounded in his ears like the echoes of ghosts on a breeze. He could not think anymore – all he could do was hug the wall and shiver as his very body seemed to shift and rearrange, creating a new creature from the inside out.

She resumed her singing. Soft it was and soothing, even though the words were foreign. She was holding and massaging his hands in hers, but it barely registered to Cyn.

And then, it passed.

With one final jerk, the sensation of his changing interior dissipated and his senses sharpened once again. He could hear the groans of wood all around him, and in the distance he could make out the howling of wind. Every now and anon he could hear the neighing of horses and the curses of men. The woman’s body now felt warm to him, and the tension in his muscles flowed away.

He turned and regarded her perfect features, exquisitely sculptured body and flawless complexion. Cyn kissed her on her brow and breathed deeply of her inviting aroma.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“Three days.”

“How did you manage?”

“Well enough, I suppose.” She glanced up at him, through dark eyes, which seemed to shimmer as though concealing some inner fire, “I got some lads to escort us to the nearest camp – Thirsty River – I think they call it.”

He sighed and gently squeezed her hands. There was something in the back of his mind that he just could not grab hold of. It lay there, taunting his memory, but evaded his grasp. Was it some dream? A song even? No matter. I have a new life now. Past memories have no place in my new self.

“Have we been followed?” He asked as he tried to get up.

“Of course not. Do you expect them to follow us? To try to…hinder us?”

“Karak of Egilos drove a sword through my heart. But he’s not as dangerous as his brother, and surely he must have been there even though I didn’t see him. I know them, I fought beside them. And there’s Normire to worry about as well.”

She shrugged carelessly, “Let them try, sweetheart. We need to make examples out of someone, after all.”

Cyn felt like an entirely new being, less of a man and more of something larger and better. He was above remorse now, or even pity. Yet even so, that tingling at the back of his mind whispered that something was vastly amiss. Strangely enough, the whispering seemed to come from someone standing at the edge of a deep cliff, shouting warnings of danger down to him as he climbed – ever so slowly – down, into a churning, fiery sea. An irrational thought. The only place I’m going is to the Top.

“After the River, where do you have in mind?”

“The world’s changed since I’ve seen it last, my love,” she sighed. “But I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids.” A warm smile split her doll-perfect face.

Unreal Cyn

Hey everyone, I finally managed to finish this next chapter! It's quite in keeping with the theme for this fic and I hope that you enjoy it. Thanks once again for reading! Onto Chapter 5, man!

Sliced


It was still dark when Farrion opened his eyes again. He reached out around him, to get a feel as to where he was. There was a wall behind him and as his hands roved to his sides, he grasped a warm cloth figure close at hand. The figure jumped and a bolt of lightning flashed from its arms, revealing the narrow room in blinding detail, if only for a second.

“Heavens?” Farrion croaked. The memory of his dream came fluttering back to him now, and he shivered.

“Farrion, oh gods! I’m so glad you woke up!” The young elementalist’s voice still quivered, and in the utter dark Farrion could not see his face.

The Mesmer continued feeling around himself, and found that he was covered in a long cloth blanket, which itched but still provided some measure of warmth. It was dry and something was caked on it in some places, but Farrion could not tell what.

“What happened back there, Heavens?” He remembered the portal room all too well. The flashes of lightning, the smell of charred flesh, the voices of his companions moaning in agony – suddenly cut off as sharp teeth found their marks. He remembered the shimmering space that was the portal, as it flashed so brightly as to light up the whole room, with Habib standing before it, ordering everyone to retreat. Then came the…pain to the back of his neck, and to his chest, and Farrion’s world had gone completely black.

The Mesmer closed his eyes, massaged them and reopened them. It made no difference. Wherever they were was darker than the tar that now bubbled out of the streams and lakes of Ascalon.

“It…it was…I can’t remember.” Heavens sighed. “But when I woke up, I could barely breathe. There was blood all around me…so much blood. And then I found you.”

So far, nothing Heavens had said made any sense whatsoever to Farrion. He’s scared nearly out of his wits. He would have gone mad if he hadn’t found anyone else. I guess in his situation I would be in the same boat.

“You….” Heavens’ voice fell to a whisper, as if speaking forbidden things, “You were staring at me, covered in lots and lots of blood. And grinning. When I checked your pulse, there was nothing. But…but you still looked at me.”

Farrion felt colder, and the darkness seemed to press in around him like the silken folds of a dress, suffocating. “I don’t understand.” He’s frightened. He can’t know what he’s saying. “You’re trying to say that I was dead?”

“Yes.” A soft sigh filled the darkness, “Then this woman came along and gave me this signet. She went away so quickly…too quickly. She was so nice.”

Farrion’s eyebrows shot up. A woman? Heather? But there was something odd in the elementalist’s voice. Despair and fear had worked on the young man like salts, and Farrion was sure that he neither knew where he was, nor cared. Hopelessness leaked from every word that left his mouth.

Farrion reached out a hand to where he thought Heavens was and grasped his shoulder. “Stay together man. Don’t worry about how we got here. We’re alive, and that’s what matters.” Alive? Four miles beneath a desert in utter darkness! For a moment fear tried to grasp his thoughts, but Farrion pushed it aside, as he had before. To be sure, he had never been in a situation like this before, but he could not let himself be taken by fear and hopelessness. Not while someone still depended on him. Gods, I hope Karak got out! I’m sure he did. He was always stronger than me, and he doesn’t know how to fail. Did anyone else get out? I hope so too. They have to help Cyn now.

Heavens shuffled closer and placed his back against the wall. “Man, you should have seen her. She was so pretty.” His voice sounded as if he were in a marijuana-induced daze. “So pretty and so nice.”

Pretty woman? In here? “Did she give her name, Heavens?”

“Name? No. She knew ours, though. She seemed to know everything. But she was gone so fast, almost like…almost like a…ghost.”

“Heavens, is there anyone else with us? Anyone else?”

“Who would be, man? We’re in hell. We sinned. We’re dead.”

Farrion restrained a sigh of despair. That’s the anguish talking. He realised that for every minute they remained here, Heavens continued his descent into chronic depression. Farrion had always studied to be a Mesmer and government official, since his family had noble blood, but Karak often told him of the monk ways, so long ago now, it seemed. At the Sanatorium, after the Searing, he had also met a cute young Sister who had discussed with him all the effects of disaster on the mind. It had been enlightening, despite the situation, but Farrion never thought he would witness madness setting in first hand.

“It’s in the air, Farrion.” Heavens said suddenly, breathlessly.

He felt something snap against his mind – a powerful surge that sent him reeling. The mesmer jumped and almost tore his eyelids straining to see something in the dark. But there was nothing, nothing that he could see. No noises reached his ears save for Heavens’ frenzied wheezing and he felt nothing except for the pounding of his heart through his chest.

Do I have a weapon? Where is that axe? His eyes darted about, looking for what he did not know, as he racked his brain for some spell that he could release without a visual target. It’s in the air! He felt himself drawing up against the wall, subconsciously trying to get through the solid stone. The darkness seemed to slither past his eyes, as though trailing some moving thing. Farrion was petrified.

“It’s coming for us!” Heavens cried, pressing against Farrion’s side as deep shivers racked his body. “Gods! Save us!”

A cold breeze suddenly ruffled his clothes and hair, setting his nerves on edge. It brought with it a strikingly familiar scent – one of death and decay. As soon as it filled his nostrils, Farrion’s mind was taken back to that long hall the company had passed through, where men with melted faces and gaping mouths stared out at them; statues that held zombies within.

I need a weapon! Oh shit! Frantically, Farrion grasped about the environs, hoping against fate to butt up on some physical tool to defend himself with. But there was nothing but bare floor, and the scent grew stronger.

“Heavens! Fire up some lightning for me man!” Farrion cried. If he could only get a moment’s light, he could see clearly enough to target, “Come on! Snap out of it!”

“I can’t! I can’t! The nails! They’re scratching me!”

“Keep your head on and just gimmie one f**king blast, Heavens!” Farrion gripped the young man by the shoulders and shook him violently, “One f**king blast!”

The room lit up with white light as a lightning bolt careened from Heavens’ hand into the far wall. The place was revealed to Farrion in negative, bare, empty, windowless and free of any doors. But right before him, not five feet away, stood a starkly naked woman. Her outstretched right hand groped down towards his face, her glazed eyes staring hard at him but seeing nothing.

For a moment, Farrion thought that she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But that was only for a moment. Her entire body was pitted as though long gashes of her flesh had whittled away; lengths of it still trailed behind her on the floor. Rot and decay marred her face revealing muscles that pussed and throbbed beneath. Her chest stood flayed open, and Farrion could see through her, to the wall behind. He could almost see maggots being birthed in that dead flesh; feasting and breeding behind those glazed eyes.

And then darkness returned.

And panic set in.

Farrion knew the woman, and so did Heavens, even though his eyes were sealed shut. There stood what had once been Tsuki. Not five feet away and drawing closer in the utter gloom.

Oh–my–goddess. A spell was on Farrion’s lips before he realised what was happening, but before he could get out the last word; the final incantation, a wet, oily hand clamped his jaw shut and the stench of rot overwhelmed him. All other stratagems fled his mind in an instant.
She fell upon him, with one hand over his mouth and the other wrapping around his head in a strange embrace. Through the blanket he could feel her clamminess, as though it seeped through the cloth onto his own body. Then she brought her head down, lifted her hand and kissed him full on the lips. Her tongue felt like raw meat in his shell-shocked mouth, and he could feel the burrowing movements of maggots beneath the flesh of her cold lips.

“I looked all over for you. They said you were here, but I did not believe them.” Despite how she looked, Tsuki’s voice was the same quiet tone. “I do not want you to leave without me.”

Farrion had a childhood friend who was the unluckiest guy in Rin. But whenever something bad ever happened to him, he always seemed unfazed, as though immune to the pain. When Farrion had asked him how he did it, the guy had simply told him that he knew of a special, ‘happy’ place in his mind, where he would go and be safe from the world.

Farrion thought he was crazy, but he was a friend. The next year though, his family had him admitted.

Now Farrion sought some ‘happy’ place for himself, for obviously this could not be happening. For what seemed like a terrible eternity he felt as though his hold on reality was slipping; leaching into the darkness.

“Look Farrion, there’s the pretty woman!” Heavens giggled beside him.

Gods, he’s gone mad. I’ve gone mad.

From the depths of his mind came a command – the only clear thought amongst a myriad of confusing agendas; eerily familiar.

Stay alive. When in Kryta, do as the Krytans do.

Farrion lips were dry, but he dared not lick them. He could not even bring himself to swallow. The stench of decaying flesh, worse and more stomach-curdling than any other single smell he had ever encountered, flowed through his nostrils like sinuous arms, confusing his mind.

“I…I thought you had died.” Farrion tried to keep his voice steady, but failed miserably. He tried to close his eyes, to imagine that he was talking to the monk as she had once been, but failed equally miserably. Though in pitch-black, the image of that pale, lifeless face, that bulged from the crawling things deep within filled his vision.

“I thought so too.” She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes, “Isn’t Dwayna ever merciful?”

Farrion had the urge to spit. After all, a maggot ridden tongue had just been in his mouth. But he dared not – it was all he could do from starting a hysterical laughter like the elementalist beside him.

“Yes, she is. I love her immensely – her gifts are like honey.” Farrion knew he was beginning to ramble, but it was either that or let the madness take him. “Now, tell me. Where are we? How did we get here? How do we get out?”

“Sooo many questions. Sooo many things to do. Do you never tire?”

“I’m excited!” Heavens bubbled with laughter.

Farrion ignored him. “Answer my questions. We need to get out of here. Cyn might still be in trouble. We have to help Karak, and Heather and the others!”

She laughed and nipped at his throat. “Farrion, Farrion. Farrion. Farrion. Farrion. Even at Death’s door you worry about others. Why don’t you just enjoy it? Like Heavens?”

“F**k Heavens. I’m not going to stay here any longer. Not with him, and certainly not with you!” With a sudden surge of fear-induced adrenaline, Farrion pushed Tsuki from off of him and stood in the darkness. “I’m getting out of here. Karak needs all the support he can get!”

Tsuki laughed, and Farrion could hear the wet, sticky sound as her body moved along the floor, “Brave words. But, Farrion, you see, you can’t go anywhere, and neither can we. We’re the same in here. We’re all dead.”
“Heavens pulled me back with a resurrection signet ––.”

“ –– That I gave him. I used it first, then used it on him. Now we’re all here. Ironic isn’t it?”

“By Lyssa, why are you doing this Tsuki? I thought you wanted to stop Ja’al like the rest of us?”

“I wanted to save Bones.” She snapped, “But he’s dead now. So it doesn’t matter. You’re dead too, so why should you care about the living? This is our home now.”

“No.” Farrion shook his head. I’m dead? No, that is impossible. Not like this. Death cannot be like this. The mesmer backed away from the sound of Tsuki’s voice and Heavens maniacal laughter. There has to be a way out of here!

Farrion back-peddled until his back struck the opposite wall. There’s always a way out. We got in after all. He moved along the wall, running his hand along the smooth surface, hoping against hope that there was something there, something he could manipulate; something he could open.

“Join us Far-Far!” Heavens shouted, “I’m gonna tell jokes in little while!”

His hand brushed against something. Farrion froze and rested his hand over the spot. It felt like a small bump in the otherwise flat wall; a button. Could escape actually be this simple? No. Maybe it’s a trap, like those razors, or like that passageway. But, Gods, I have to try something! Farrion pushed the button.

And nothing happened. But then, as if coming from a thousand miles away, Farrion heard a deep rumbling and rumour of noise. He pressed himself against the wall, and waited.

He heard the wet noises of Tsuki’s flesh against stone from close at hand, but he hoped that like him, she could not see in the dark. Then, as her stench became stifling, he felt a strange shudder, and his hand fell away into a space as the wall slid from behind him.

Tsuki’s soggy hands suddenly grasped his waist, and she pulled herself up on him, ripping open his tunic and licking him with a tongue that felt like day old skinned lamb might against the flesh.

Without waiting to think, Farrion burrowed his fingernails in her hands, feeling his fingers slide almost effortlessly into her pest ridden flesh. Puss gushed out around his fingers.

“Conjuré Phantasm!” He screamed, ripping free of the dead woman’s grasp.

A purple image suddenly appeared inches from him – a swirling cloud of purple gas. From it came a horrible skull, trailed by mist that burned and drained. A phantasm. One of his favourite conjurations.

But instead of settling upon Tsuki, it came for him. A madness was it its eyes, and Farrion suddenly knew that something about his energy and his spells was very wrong. Long arms reached out from the thing, grasping towards him with lustful desire, even as the purple cloud grew in intensity.

“Different rules, Farrion.” Tsuki muttered from somewhere in the dark.

Farrion cursed, turned, and darted through the newly revealed doorway. The phantasm followed him on his heels, and Heavens’ incessant laughter mocked his flight.

The passage immediately began to slant upwards, but everything remained utterly dark. He had no idea what he was heading into, but he had to move. He had to get away! Suddenly he bolted into something and it gave way, splintering like wood. Light blinded him for a moment, and he staggered onto the ground, gasping for air.

The phantasm came right out after him, and fell upon him.

Farrion felt his skin peel away, and such a fire ripped through his insides. Then the phantasm suddenly dissipated, like mist under the heat of the sun.

He staggered to his feet and gazed about him. Before his eyes rolled fields upon fields of grey landscape. The sky above roiled with black clouds, keeping everything in a silvery twilight. To his right lay a small, still lake, which seemed like clear glass under that dark sky. Behind him was a cave entrance, and the thing he had crashed through was a brittle wooden door. And it was cold. Very cold, even though no wind blew at all.

He massaged his burning arms and continued to look around for any sign of life. What is this place?

“There you are, Far-Far!” Heavens giggled, skipping out of the cave entrance. “You didn’t even hear my best tale!”

The mesmer turned and saw the elementalist, trailing Tsuki. She had the itchy blanket thrown over her shoulders, hiding the gaping hole through her chest. In this twilight, he could make out the corpse all too well. Those glazed eyes studied him with uncanny thought.

As though he had been struck by a dolyak, Farrion’s eyes whipped back to Heavens. The young man’s clothes were torn and ragged, but it was his face that kept Farrion riveted to the ground. The flesh of his left cheek was completely gone, revealing only rotting muscle. His mad smile did not touch his hollow eyes. Only once before had he seen such things – in the backwater swamps of Kryta, where the Jade Empire had turned back scores upon scores of shambling undead.

“Oh my Gods.” Farrion gasped, rising and shuffling away from the two of them, “Oh Gods. Oh Dwayna, hear me, preserve me!”

“Farrion, Farrion, Farrion. Why are you running from us? You have been saved from certain death. You were brought back from the brink with the signet.” Her smile tightened, “But there is always a price to pay.”

Her words hammered into him like an axe. “Oh Gods. No! Stay away from me!” He wanted to cast another incantation; something stronger should hold them off. No! Something’s wrong with my spells!

He turned and darted for the lake. It filled the small ravine in which they stood, with sheer dark cliffs on either side. Surely they could not follow him if he swam across. They might even be afraid of water. Water, yes. Water is good. It was becoming increasingly harder for Farrion to think clearly.

Suddenly he reached it, and he realised that indeed the lake reflected the dark sky so well that he could not even see the bottom of it. Still it lay; an unmoving, obsidian mirror. Tsuki’s and Heavens’ footsteps sounded on the hard ground just behind him, but Farrion did not cross. He sank to his knees, staring into the water in horror.

The Wraiths stood beside him, Heavens still giggling, Tsuki saying nothing.

Farrion ran his hand along his face, over the gash where his nose should have been, over the bare muscle where his bottom lip should have been, over the larynx that muscle and flesh should have covered. He glanced down at his abdomen, revealed through his torn tunic. It was deathly pale, and as he ran his hand along it, thin strips of his flesh curled away, like cheese.

His eyes, once a vibrant black, now seemed a pale grey.

“The glow of the stars no longer shines through our eyes, do they Farrion?” Tsuki finally said, sadly.

Farrion did not reply. Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay. Alive. Stay. Sta…st….

He was exactly like them.

Darky_shady

Hey man, nice work there. I really like the story Keep going :P. I'm sorry, I can't write much more now, I have to go but I hope to see more.

shadow-violet

I liked the 4th chapter, but the 5th was a little weird but still pretty good. I hope that they get their skin back though. XD

divinechancellor

ohhh a rez sig with a price. Disease: what fun

Unreal Cyn

Greetings again everyone! I do apologize for taking forever to post this next chapter, but my pc was down for a spell and other projects needed some work. Thanks for your comments and views once again! This chapter is not long; more of breather and a collection of thoughts. I hope you enjoy and I hope that you won't have to wait for so long for another installment. Onto Chapter 6, man!

Into the Sun


Heather darted back from the necromancer, eyes wide, mouth agape. Blood rushed from her face, and despite the massive power Habib knew that she was capable of wielding, she seemed completely petrified of the man. She clutched her dagger as though it were her only defence.

Normire staggered to his feet and glanced around at the environs. Then his gaze settled on Habib, and though the two men were a good ten paces apart, Habib felt a tug as though someone had suddenly grasped his arm.
Now that he was standing, the necromancer seemed much larger than he had first appeared, commanding a sense of dark awe about his person. Blood trickled from his hand and pooled on the floor, but still he seemed to ignore it, oblivious to all else save Habib.

“Ja’al has Cyn, doesn’t she?” he asked, but to Habib, it sounded like a rhetorical question.

“I believe so. I’m also of the belief that you had died.”

Normire shrugged, and it looked to Habib that the rise and fall of his shoulders were the rise and fall of something as shifting as mist. “Then that means that I don’t have that much time left. We need to stop Cyn, now.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on here, but this isn’t the place for such discussion anyway. We’ve lost too much already in this place. Let us leave.”
He held out a hand to Heather, and she slapped it away, content to rise on her own. Her eyes were still fixed on Normire, and she looked just about as tense as a cobra about to spring.

“Where will we go?” Karissa asked. Her voice, so soft, sounded desperate and weak.

“Augury Rock is the closest on the path to civilisation. We have no food, no supplies – we left them all in that Gallery of Crystal. I don’t know how the hunting is in the desert, but I assume that it’s hard, if not nonexistent.”

“Whatever you say, Habib.” Normire said. He turned and helped Karissa to her feet, and then moved away to Big Charr and Karak without as much as a word.

Not even a thank you, for whatever she did to him. Habib massaged his numb arm through the leather joints of his armour, wishing for a hot bath and some Epsom salts. For a moment he wished his life had been different, that he had chosen to stay in Ascalon, doing what he had been born to do. Now I do what I must.

“Come on,” he said, taking in both Heather and Karissa.

With that he followed Normire to the Charr and Karak. Big Charr had effectively subdued the large warrior; several thin wires bound his hands and feet. Every movement Karak made caused the wires to slice deeper into the weaker joints of his armour, cutting against his skin. Habib had no idea where the Charr came by such wire.

Normire was bending over Karak, and though no one was saying anything, it seemed to Habib that some form of communication was passing between the two of them. He stood and watched. Karak was really acting strange. What the hell has gotten into him? Why did he attack Big Charr and me? Why did he really kill Cyn?

“He’s possessed.” Normire said suddenly, straightening and glancing at Habib. “Just as I feared, before he tried to gut me.”

“Possessed? Bloody hell!” Big Charr cursed, “How in blazes did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Normire glanced down at Karak and for a moment it seemed that he grew paler, “I don’t know. Whatever is in him is in deep. It’s almost rooted itself.”

Habib followed the necromancer’s gaze down to Karak. The warrior sat there almost serenely, his lips curving into a gentle half-smirk. But his eyes pulsed as though independently alive, each glassy orb holding a different entity. And if Habib looked harder, or suddenly shifted his gaze, it seemed that Karak’s countenance changed; a slightly different face replacing the earlier one.

“F**k.” Habib spat. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s a next. Can you help him?”

“Not here, Habib.”

“All the more reason to get moving then.”

The remainder of the company gathered themselves and left the cavern. Habib took up the rear, and stood at the threshold of the entrance cavern, giving the place one last good look before he left it forever. Jewels and fine metals glittered in the ghostly light, but he had no desire for them. Here was the prison of a demon, and he would be damned if he took anything from it.
As he turned and followed the company out, the soft beam of blue light that towered above the central stalagmite glimmered and petered out. Darkness swept over everything, eternally sealing the cavern from the eyes of the world.

The cavern they now followed had been battered by all of the recent quakes; walls had crumbled, revealing new, darker passageways and bottomless abysses. Debris covered the way ahead several times, but ever the cavern wound on. Not as much as a breath disturbed the utter silence of the dark place. Only Heather’s glowing mist provided any illumination.

And then suddenly, as though the darkness had been swept back by some enormous hand, blinding light consumed them.

Habib froze, momentarily blinded. Slowly he opened his eyes, and all about him and the company stretched rolling desert. The tops of ruined towers and crumbling statues peeked out at the sky close at hand, but everything else had been covered by many layers of deep sand. The storm that had sent them flying into the cavern had blown over, leaving miles of pristine sand in its wake.

A breeze was picking up from the north, so fresh it was, so pure, that Habib felt immediately refreshed. The sky above was clear and remarkably blue, and the sun burned down upon the landscape with a relentless fury. Gods, it must be noon.

“Gods, it must be noon!” Big Charr sighed, echoing Habib’s thoughts, “We can’t travel in this, Habib. It is suicide. You humans might be hairless, but we Charr were made for the cold, not blistering heat.”

“Then you should consider shaving, my friend. It makes a whole lot of things easier – especially bathing.”

Big Charr growled in protest, and even though Habib knew that this Charr was benign, the growl sent shivers through his body and he almost drew his sword. Years of despising and eventually fighting Big Charr’s kind had engrained a sort of hatred towards all Charr in Habib, a hatred that he tried without fail to keep in check.

Now that he was outside again, and the light was good, Habib got a chance to finally examine his surroundings. They were standing just outside the entrance cave of a large, low mesa, which stretched some miles to the north and south. It was the only thing that broke the endless scenery of sand. Before them should have laid the remnants of some ancient city, but most of it now lay buried in the fresh sand.

“What would possess a man to come all the way out here in the first place?” Habib muttered to himself. He was talking about Cyn, of course, and that was a question he had not had the chance to ask the Neightswifts. And now that Farrion was dead and Karak was practically possessed, he doubted if ever he would get that chance again.

Farrion’s dead. As well as Heavens and Tsuki. Poor children. I should have been there for them. Gods! The old linger as the young are swept away.

“We have to wait here then,” Habib said finally, stepping back into the relative cool of the cave. “We’ll travel at sunset.”


A blazing-red sun, dripping with rippling halos of heat, heralded the onset of evening. The golden sand was now burnished lava, and the sky a crimson dome across the desert. Habib rested against the stone mouth of the cave, staring out across the sands. His helmet and gauntlets were at his side, but his sword was across his lap. The desert was fantastic at these times, as light almost literally bled into the night with such a kaleidoscopic fanfare.

About him the rest of the company sat or lounged. Karak had not said a word since coming from the cavern, and Big Charr still kept his guard. Karissa and Heather sat as far away from each other as they could, with Normire casting thoughtful glances in everyone’s direction.

Musing on all that had happened, Habib wondered if he was the only human being amongst them. Surely Tyria was a place where even one’s most amazing fantasizes usually were truth, but Habib had never for a moment considered being in the company of such strange personas. The Wraiths had been one thing, but this had been another. The Wraiths. Ah, Bones, old boy. Everything has gone to hell, hasn’t it? Only Big Charr and I am left now. I wonder what will become of us.

“You look restless.” Normire said as he sat down beside the warrior. His hand had been firmly wrapped in a bandage, but still a red smear showed through.

To Habib, the air suddenly felt that much colder. “I’ve a lot on my mind, necromancer.”

“Don’t we all?” He folded his arms and looked out across the petrified ocean of sand, “Wonderful sunset, isn’t it? The Desert is such a beautiful place.”

“That sounds strange coming from a necromancer.”

Normire sighed, “There’s beauty all around us. Beauty in the architecture, in the sea and sky, and even here. Especially here, where it’s so pure. Some even believe that there’s beauty in death.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I love life. I only became a necromancer through circumstance. The Searing affected several people in several different ways. We survived how we could.”

“Who are you really, Normire? I don’t trust you, but I feel that feeling might be misplaced seeing as to I know nothing but rumours about you.” Habib said bluntly.

“Once I was a rich guild-leader; brave, maybe foolhardy. Now I’m a man with many regrets, Habib. Nothing more. I only hope to redeem myself.”

Habib glanced across at the man’s pale face. We’ve more in common than I first thought.

“I hope that eventually you can trust me, Habib. With what little time I have left I could do with a good friend.” And with that he was rising to his feet, heading outside to bask in the fading light of the sunset. Silhouetted against the light, Habib thought that he looked like an impossibly dark figure, yearning for just a bit of the light, but never once catching it.

nebojats

I just read chapter one... very well written. I'm excited to get brought up to speed (although I sort of want to savor each chapter). Keep up the great work!

Unreal Cyn

Greetings once again everyone! I apologize for my near month hiatus. I hope everyone is doing well and I trust that all you cricket fans are ready for World Cup in about 8 days right here in the West Indies! I've been struggling with some other work for a while, but mid-semester break is upon me so now I can relax and finally get my shit together. Thanks for all of your comments and views, and here is Chapter 7. Please enjoy!


The Reach of a God


A severe itching drove him back to his senses. His eyes opened, but all he could make out was darkness, tinged with crimson light like blood. His hearing was muffled, but distantly he thought he heard the sounds of…nothing. It seemed like wads of cloth had suddenly been shoved down his ears. He tried to move but found that that was impossible. Either something heavy was on him, or he was strapped against something. Or his body was too damned hurt to move. He could not tell, for even though his senses were there, they seemed like someone else’s, and he could not tell for sure what anything was.

By Dwayna’s mercy, I must be dead. Memory trickled back into his waking mind, dispelling the visions of dreams. He remembered the smell of wet fur, the feel of cold rain washing over his battered body, the touch of the woman he loved as he tried to protect her for one last time. He remembered seeing the salivating fangs of the beast, feeling the bite of cold steel as a blade slid between his ribs.

Presently he felt something cold and wet slide along what could be his back; his senses were all over the place so he could not really tell up from down from sideways. For a moment he had the awful feeling that it was a tongue; licking him, tasting his flesh, preparing him for a worse fate than stabbing. At least dying from that would have been relatively quick, clean.

The hand (or what he really hoped was a hand), massaged what was probably his face, and soon he felt something even softer and moister touching his lips. Possibly it was raindrops, or maybe it was the sauce and dressing. Got to think straight. Got to get back in control of myself. Easier said than done.

He settled to working out mathematical problems in his mind. That always brought him closer to his senses, as he saw each number in his mind’s eye, felt them, touched them, hell he even smelled the bastards. Once there, usually he could feel every fibre in his body, and his instincts became as sharp as the bite of sin.

And surely enough, after what must have been hours of interacting with the numbers, he thought that he could hear again, though barely. Someone was humming beside him. Someone or some thing.

He discarded the numbers and tried to focus on that humming. It was familiar, and there was something else about it that pulled him from the fog of unconsciousness like a rope. Feeling crawled back into his extremities with a burning sensation as of pins and needles marching along the length of his flesh.

His vision finally cleared, and slowly his environs coalesced from shifting darkness. Blurry figures lay all around him, tinged by that same crimson light. He was sitting up, his back to a wall. Besides that, he could make out nothing else. He could not even see his own itching body. He moved his hand to where his chest was and it came away sticky. The wound there burned and itched like hell. F**k! What the f**k?!

Something suddenly moved beside him, that cold – hand? – returned, grabbing his own and pulling him close.

“Oh Heli! Are you still alive, Heli?”

That voice. Sounds so much like…Vinessa? But that’s not possible. We both were slaughtered, along with the rest of them. Then how can I be thinking to myself? Do dead people reason?

“Heli!” The woman’s voice bordered on cracking; the brink of hysteria and tears. “Please, please be alive. Please, please, please….” Muffled sobs shook her body.

Gods…?

“Vin…Vinessa?” Heli croaked in disbelief. That has to be her, but how? How?

“Oh Heli!” She grabbed him even tighter, and Heli could even feel her sense of relief wash over him. Whatever happened between now and then, she must have thought me dead.

Still no discernable elements of his environs came clearly into view, so Heli turned his face and beheld Vinessa, tinged by that same crimson light. Dried blood and grime marred her face. Her armour was gone, leaving her in barely her underclothes. Ugly bruises crisscrossed her bare arms and legs. But that haunted look that he had last seen in her eyes was gone, replaced by something harder, deeper.

Looking at her, Heli knew that he could not be in any better condition. His nerves were beginning to wake and sharpen, and his entire body throbbed and burned.

“Are yuh…you alright? Wuh happen?” he croaked again. His tongue felt like a dry log against a sandy palette. Even his lips felt as though someone had taken a razor to them.

“I am now,” she said, almost to herself. “I…I thought you had died. I had to hope, Heli. I would die without you here.”

Surely she meant that she needed his ranger skills to survive, not that she only yearned for his presence. Surely. But the way she looked at him….

“How we could still be alive? Last ting I rememba’ was de Charr lighting his sword in my ass.”

Vinessa huddled closer, if at all that was possible, and sighed deeply. “They beat us – unconscious, as I don’t remember anything for a while. When I came to they were dragging us in here. They were beating you still, even though you weren’t awake. I tried to fight them off, but they…they hurt me. But I couldn’t watch them do that to you…. Then they put us in this moving prison. There are others here, Heli, others humans. Civilians. I don’t know where they came from or how they managed to get here. No one has talked to me.”

“De Charr…captured us? This is amazing.”

“I rather we had died together,” Vinessa responded softly, “They are going to hurt us so badly now. So badly. I don’t know ––.”

Heli stopped her with a kiss. Short, dry and painful, but somehow sweet nevertheless. She returned the favour without hesitation, but when he finally pulled away, her eyes were wide; her expression awestruck.

So close to the brink of death. The Charr killed everyone in the guild except us two. Only us two. There are no such things as coincidences…we were saved for something. Even if it’s to see the final days of this dying kingdom together.

“I think I love you, Vinessa,” Heli found himself saying, the words flowing unbidden, “I just…I just wanna say dat. I don’t wish that we had died togethered – I’m glad we lived. And I hope dat we live some more.” Maybe someday he would look back at what he had just said and think it pathetic, but right now he could care less.

“I know. Thank you, Heli.” Vinessa replied, half-amused. For a moment Heli wished that none of this had happened – that the two of them were still somewhere safe.

Well, can’t go back now.

Heli glanced back around the prison. The blurry figures on the fringes of the place were, in fact, people; staring blankly into space as though robbed of their souls. Many looked on the very verge of death – gaunt, half-naked and riddled with still bleeding scars.

“What are we going to do now, Heli?” Vinessa pressed a torn piece of her blouse against his bleeding chest and abdomen.

“We can’t do anything but wait and see what happens.” Heli grimaced as he put an arm around Vinessa’s shoulders. Whatever happens from now on, I’m going to have to depend on this little woman to do some big things. If the Charr took the time to take us alive, then maybe we’re just on our way to a Flame Temple to be sacrificed. Just on our way to a Flame Temple to be sacrificed! On any other day that would have really bothered me.

“I don’t think anything good is waiting for us.” Vinessa sighed.

Heli agreed with her, but said nothing. No use in getting her too anxious. Vinessa had never campaigned this hard against the Charr, and knew little about their ways. In fact, much of his guild was ignorant of the deeper intricacies of Charr civilisation. Not that it really mattered. But Heli knew several things, all passed on from a very strange, talking Charr Blade-Warrior he had met a few years ago under strange circumstances.

Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a stop and a few moments later, the back door was thrust open. Crimson light spilled into the prison, washing over the bodies of the captives. Three large Charr stood at the doorway, their massive frames silhouetted by the light. Wordlessly, they began hauling out the prisoners like they were bags of sugar.

Heli pressed a finger to his lips, motioning Vinessa to be quiet and to act as blank as their fellow captives. She nodded curtly as the Charr approached them and hauled them outside into a frigid waste. Clouds still blanketed the sun and sky, but unlike in Ascalon proper, these clouds were thinner and had a slightly lighter hue to them. The landscape about the carriage was as twisted as Ascalon, however, but it did not look as though the Searing had reached this far – Heli could see no sign of the telltale giant crystals that dotted his homeland.

The wind blew sharp and chill from the north, carrying with it the scent of smoke and stirring debris about the grey rocks. Foliage grew in the clefts and nooks nearby; strangled copses of thorns of weeds. There was nothing especially outstanding about the place, except for the tall stone pyramid that rose out of the tumbled mass of hills to the northeast.

Built from the same grey rock that covered the land, the pyramid almost seemed like a giant rock itself. A small track wound its way past the carriage up through narrow clefts in the stone on its way to the pyramid. And telling from the hard-packed nature of the track, Heli figured that it was well-used. They had come to one of those narrow clefts in the rock, and the carriage was apparently too wide to pass through. So we have to hoof it.

The Charr brandished long, thick quarterstaffs and poked and prodded the prisoners to get them moving up the narrow path. Heli kept close to Vinessa near the back of the group. A giant of a Charr led the prisoners up the winding path, flanked by much smaller ones. Heli scanned the environs again and again, looking for some means of escape. Not that he was seriously pondering escape, considering the condition he and Vinessa were in that would be looking to commit suicide. He didn’t think that he had been saved just to throw both his and Vinessa’s life away.

But there was no way out of this place. When they were not passing through narrow tunnels that burrowed through the stone or flanked by tall wall-like cliffs, the area on either side of the path fell away many hundred feet into jagged hills below.

No wonder the Charr seem so carefree about all of this.

They plodded up and on for what seemed like hours on end without rest. Heli’s calves burned from the exhaustion and his breath was becoming ragged. Vinessa took the hike gamely; offering him smiles and brief, quiet words of encouragement. Heli wondered where in hell she found the energy to do all that. He felt like dying at any moment.

Soon, two wooden effigies peeked out at them from their spots in large crevices to either side of the path. Heli gave them a good, long look, for the effigies were much better crafted than any of those he had seen back in Ascalon. These were much more than pieces of wood lashed together. Heli could make out fingers on the hands, eyes in the faces and even bears pelt that worked as hair on the heads.

This place must have some importance then? Heli wondered. That talking Charr had not told him of any place such as this.

The path widened after it passed the effigies; fading away onto a wide valley bordered on every side by tall, sheer cliffs, like the caldera of some ancient volcano. In its midst was the large pyramid, surrounded by even more effigies. A score of tall wooden buildings were scattered about, and several hairy Charr milled around, sharpening weapons, chanting, or working on spells.

Gods. It’s a f**king city. Despite all he had learned of these beasts, Heli’s realisation came as a shock to him. He did not think that the Charr were of the mindset of building permanent habitats.

None of the Charr paid them any mind as the prisoners were herded towards a collection of closely packed buildings off to the west of the town. There, dominating the area was a tall statue, wrought from iron. What shocked Heli was not the fact of its presence, but that it was in the image of a man.

He was dressed in flowing robes, and in his right hand was a small orb which looked eerily like an eyeball. His features were sharp and intent and the statue seemed to radiate fear and despair. The leading Charr made deep bows and loud growls to the statue as they passed. They’re paying respects to a man?!

As they passed it Heli saw that a name had been embedded into the man’s dark forehead.

It read Cyn.

Unreal Cyn

Underworld

Farrion felt his sanity begin to crumble around him like a matchstick fortress in a storm. For the umpteenth time in the last thirty seconds he gazed back into the water before him in utter disbelief, stroking his pallid, dead flesh. The world was still about him, and through the very blackened earth he sat upon he could feel the presence of death. It seemed to permeate this land like water after a rainstorm; draining into every crevice, every fissure.

He brought his eyes to the sky and the horizon. The sky was a mix of dark grey, with the occasional patches of silver that marked thunderless lightning. At first he had thought that he was back somewhere in Ascalon, among the burnt out shell of some homestead or the other. But that first impression had faded as quickly as his hope.

There were none of the telltale giant crystals peeking out from their burrows in the earth, no crimson sky, no tar pits, and no signs of life. The air felt heavy and stagnant, as if no breeze ever blew here; no breath ever taken. It was a dead and dying land; all life leaching out of it.

He sensed Tsuki take a seat next to him and heard her sigh. Farrion could not bring himself to glance across at her. The shock of that pale, maggot-ridden face and gaping chest still rippled through his psyche. He closed his eyes and drew his feet up to his chest, trying to block out the nightmare around him. Hoping against hope that he would wake up, and everything would go back to normal.

“It’s not so bad, Farrion,” Tsuki was saying, “We’re not in the grave – we can still think, and move about.”

He wanted her to go away. He needed her to go away. Every word she said was like another chip in the crumbling walls of his peace of mind.

“Do you want to go back down into the cave, Farrion? It’s warmer there and we can talk if you’d like.”

Why the hell is she talking to me like this? Doesn’t she realise how she looks? How I look?

“Farrion. Farrion, look at me.” She rested a hand on his leg.

Farrion flinched away violently, jumping to his feet. “Don’t touch me!” He screamed. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you find anything the least bit odd about all of this?! Where the hell are we, eh? How did we get here? Why do I look like this, and feel like this?”

In his anger Farrion had the terrible feeling that he knew the answers to all of his questions. But he pushed his reasoning out of his mind, hoping there was some other explanation.

Tsuki frowned and licked her lips. A slow, deliberate motion as though she was sizing up Farrion for a meal. From the corner of his eye Farrion could see Heavens, playing some strange game amongst the boulders close at hand.

“I just want to be here, Farrion. Why don’t you want to stay with us? You shouldn’t hate us!” She sounded very desperate and forlorn.

Over by the boulders Heavens was laughing and talking with himself whilst chasing after shadows. The whole scene was deeply unnerving to witness, and it was only then that Farrion realised that both Heavens and Tsuki were insane. They had to be. They just had to be. I have to get away from them.

But get away from them and go where? He had no idea where he was. He could be anywhere between the Mists and the Fissure for all he knew. He could even be a little crazed himself.

No. I’m sane. I’m thinking rationally.

“Look. Listen to me,” Farrion started anew, still keeping his distance from Tsuki. “You said you gave Heavens a resurrection signet. Where did you get it?”

She shrugged. “It was there.”

Farrion cursed under his breath. This was going nowhere. But he was, and soon.

“You know what? I’m getting out of this place. You can go back down into that cave if you want to. I’m going to find help.” With that he turned and started off past the lake. He had no idea of what direction he was heading in, but once it was somewhere away from these two, he could care less.

“Farrion…there’s no help to be had here. We’re dead.” Tsuki’s voice came as she followed him; chill and clear.

That again. We’re dead. Again Farrion tried to reason past Tsuki’s words, but found it impossible to do this time. Of all the reasons Farron could come up with, none came closer to home than Tsuki’s simple statement. We’re dead.

The bloodless flesh, the hollow eyes, the fact that they were walking and talking while bearing fatal wounds could all now be explained. But Farrion shuddered at the ramifications.

We can’t be dead. How? How in the world can dead people walk and talk and… Farrion pulled up short. His mind went racing back to the days he had trekked through the poisonous swamps of Kryta with the Jade Empire. The visions of the rotting inhabitants of those swamps came back with such a searing intensity that he lost all sense of where he was. All he could see before him were those haunted, glowing eyes, all he could feel were those bony, slimy arms, slithering over his body, seeking purchase.

By Lyssa. We’re undead.

The shock of the realisation barely had time to settle in before Farrion saw the flash of light rush them.

A bolt of lightning tore into his chest, sending Farrion flailing backwards, crashing to the ground in a heap. The hell…? He heard Tsuki shout something incomprehensible from next to him and in moments she too was flying backwards from the sudden onslaught of lightning. Farrion struggled to his feet and had just enough time to get a glance at who was firing at them before another blast ripped through his abdomen.

Three armed men, all clad in glistening steel only partially dulled by age, blood and grime stood not ten feet away. In their midst was a woman, suspended in the air, eyes closed, blonde hair fanning and fingertips bristling with electrical power.

Sweet, sweet Lyssa. Who the hell are these people now?

“Finish them Mara.” One of the men grunted, motioning to Farrion and Tsuki with his steel hammer. “Just three more of the bastards and we’ve got our gold for sure!”

Farrion’s head was spinning. The pain and burning of the lightning bolts that had torn into his body was quickly dissipating, which would have been odd if he had been alive. The skin remained unbroken at the points of impact, only blackened like grilled fish. Over to his left Tsuki was still struggling to get vertical and the lightning bolts seemed to have almost no effect on her dead body either.

But Farrion knew that both he and Tsuki were in deep trouble.

“Are you sure that you boys don’t want a little action before I clean ‘em up?” the woman asked, settling back to her feet and opening a pair of intense emerald eyes.

The men shrugged. “I hate the smell of them,” the one off to the right started. In his hands he wielded a massive battleaxe, no smaller than even Karak’s golden one. “And the sight of them. Roast them from afar, Mara. No sense in dirtying up my new armour.”

Farrion did not know who these people were, but one thing was clear. They wanted him and Tsuki dead. And he could not allow that. Tsuki and Heavens might both be a lost cause, but he had to get out of this place. Cyn had to be stopped from whatever madness he was going to do; he still needed saving from that demon, and Karak might need help in doing so.

Something was wrong with his spells, but Farrion did not think he had much more of a choice. Quickly, he began to weave a new spell. His trademark phantasms were turning on him; not working as they should, so he tried a different branch of power. One that he seldom used, but that was just as dangerous as Illusion.

“Alright then boys, how would you like them? Roasted or fried?” The elementalist laughed as she lifted back into the air. The space around her sparked and sizzled with live electricity. Farrion could not tell what spell she was about to cast, but whatever it was, it was going to be huge.

“Pertarde ik b’ckfire!” Farrion hissed.

The deep twilight lit up like the eve of the Searing as a violent thunderbolt pummelled back through the elementalist, frying her until she was nothing more than a smouldering husk on the blackened earth.

The three men suddenly froze, gazing in pure disbelief at the remains of their lady-friend. The suddenness and ferocity of her death spiked through them like nails.

Holy shit! Farrion’s mouth hung open. How did that happen? Either she was casting something really, really powerful, or… He remembered how powerful and big that phantasm he had summoned had been. That had only been a simple spell, but what actually resulted from it was way more than he expected.

That had been the case here, too.

In a moment the shock had passed, and the three men, newly pissed off, turned towards Farrion and Tsuki.

“F**king, f**king undead! You killed her! You ––.” The central warrior was cut short by a stone that crashed into his exposed face and sent him reeling and dropping his axe.

Farrion glanced over at Tsuki and found her in the process of throwing another stone.

And when he glanced back to the men, he found two of them almost on top of him, swinging sword and hammer.

He was struck hard and careened backwards, ramming his head on a boulder close at hand. His vision blurred painfully for a moment and then cleared to show the men still there, readying another barrage of blows.

“Ne attack!” Farrion hollered as the blunt and sharp edges of the weapons came crashing into him yet again.

This time, as he flew backwards, so did the men. They dropped their weapons and scratched at their flesh, as something slithered and boiled from beneath it. Their wails climaxed at a blood-chilling crescendo as the two men simply exploded, raining blood, puss and the remains of their steel armour all over the environs.

“Oh f**k! Dwayna have mercy!” the last remaining warrior screamed, staring in horror at the remains of his comrades.

Didn’t see that one coming did you? Farrion though grimly. Should’ve finished us off before we saw it coming. Never play with your prey. Now to join them, you fool!

Farrion gasped. What was he thinking? It must be this place. The dreariness of it is getting to me.

The warrior held his shield before him defensively, and Farrion reasoned that he must have balls the size of Tyria to not turn tail and run for his life. Tsuki was aiming another stone at him when Farrion grabbed her hand.

“Leave him to me.” He said.

Tsuki smiled darkly and let the stone fall.

“Sorry about your mates,” Farrion began, approaching the warrior, “But we had to defend ourselves, you see.”

The warrior froze in shock. “You…you things can talk?!”

Farrion remembered how he had looked. Certainly he looked like a monster to these people. An undead monster no less. No wonder they attacked us.

“Yes, but we don’t want to hurt anyone. We just want to get out of here.”

“You just killed all my friends!”

“They didn’t give us any chance to explain ourselves. So they had to die. Good riddance to such fools. Had they any idea of the power I wield and they would have instead been bowing down and worshipping m––.” What the hell am I talking about?

Farrion shook his head, thought he heard something rattling in there, and tried again. “Look, man. Sorry about your friends. We just need to get out of this place – we have been cursed, you see, and we need to break it by getting free of this place. Wherever this place is.”

“You must be f**ing kidding me!” the warrior cried, still slowly retreating, “There’s no way I can do that! And I wouldn’t even if I could! This is the Underworld! Nothing in here gets out that wasn’t meant to get out!”

Farrion felt his heart stop, which was strange as it was not really beating in the first place. We’re in the… Underworld!? Gods! How in blazes did we get here? Farrion massaged his face. No time for such questions. Need to get the hell out of this place and reverse whatever that signet Tsuki found did to us. I need to help Karak, and to stop Ja’al.

“We helped save Tyria from the Lich. The least you can do is help us out of here.” Farrion reasoned.

“No f**king way! No ––.” Farrion was on the man before he had time to finish his sentence far less react.

The Mesmer grabbed the warrior’s head, speaking the words of a Migraine as the both of them collapsed onto the ground. The warrior screamed in bone-splitting agony as the unbearable domination magic hammered into his very mind.

“Now you listen to me, mother f**ker. There’s no way I’m staying in here any longer. Either you help us get out, or I shall peel the very flesh off your bones and wear it like a f**ing coat. I will flay you like meat.” Farrion pressed his fingernails deep into the flesh of the warrior’s face until they drew blood, “Do I make myself clear?”

The warrior squealed his understanding and his willingness to obey, his eyes fixed open in a stare of purest horror. For in the Mesmer’s eyes he had seen something that was worse than death itself.

shadow-violet

O.O..........I wanna know what happens next