It got into my hand.  Bad. 

Ian’s left hand came back around and slugged him in the jaw, knocking the thought from his mind and returning him to the present.  He tried to pin it down under his knee, to use his good hand to pin it to the floor, but nothing worked.  His left hand was simply to wily.

It jerked and lunged, pulling Ian’s entire body along with it.  The hand curled into a fist and attempted another swing at Ian’s head.  He dodged it, but the fist’s momentum carried him up to his feet and across the room.   Smashing Ian’s body into a set of shelves and, before he could get his bearing,  it jerked him over a sofa.

Ian heard subtle laughter echoing in his mind.  It grew louder each time he failed to get to his feet.  Every time his wrist tugged and threw him off balance.  And every single time it landed a blow on him.  His last wire of patience snapped and he bodily threw himself on top of his hand.

Beneath him, a heat spread, growing in intensity along with red light.  Angry lines of arcane power traced along his veins all the way to his wrist.  Ian knew that if the power spread from his wrist he was done for.  But he struggled, determined not to give it the upper-hand. 

“Ha!  Not so tough now are ya?”  Ian shouted in triumph.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

His victory was short lived.  The fingernails on his infected hand morphed into blackened talons, and then sank into his calf. 

“Argh! You mother-!”  Ian roared in pain as he rolled off his hand.

The malicious laughter echoed in his mind, now even louder.  With blood dripping from its newly formed talons the hand flexed and popped.  It twisted and turned as though searching for something.  Then it lunged again, dragging Ian along with it.  And promptly into a coffee table in the center of the room.  

The table shattered under Ian’s weight.  Pain lanced through his shoulders and back as he struggled to get up.  He pushed himself to his feet, swaying as the room spun in his vision.  He was losing this fight.  He had to figure out a way to get this under control.

As if sensing his weakness the possessed hand curled into a fist and hurtled itself forward.  The fist smashed into Ian’s chin and putting a new spin on the phrase “Why-you-hitting-yourself?” The blow sent Ian right back to the floor in a daze.  The possessed hand latched onto his throat and squeezed.  

Ian sputtered as he tried to draw breath.  His vision darkened at the edges.  His legs kicked out like an animal trapped in the jaws of a mighty predator.  Feebly he wedged his right hand against his possessed appendage and shoved.  It was in vain as the red lines flashed and the iron grip tightened to steel.  Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and lights danced before them.  A fleeting thought came to him, I’m going to die. 

Ian shook his head, clenched his jaw.  Not today!  His mind roared in defiance.  This would not be his fate.