Light: Deliverance 1.67

Light: Strife 0.81

Light: Manipulate 2.33

Light: Preservation 1.93

Light: Intensity 0.35

Blood: Bestow 0.74

With grogginess and a splitting headache, Dan read and reread his core’s values. Frankly, he was disappointed. A life or death battle should have resulted in more, he thought. It was the seal, he assumed. The chains around his light core didn’t just restrict it from growing and extruding most of its power, it seemed.

Slouching up against the uneven stone of his cell, Dan held his head in his hands. The battle with Jokaad replayed in his mind over and over again, but the thing that tugged at his attention was the smell. Rotten dirty diapers and weeks old maggot infested meat. The smell of death, the smell of murder.

Even after venturing through the red double doors and through the mucus filled cavern, Dan had never smelled something so horrid. Eating alien steaks raw and carrying around a hunk of alien skin was nothing compared to Jokaad’s dungeon. Dan felt his stomach grumble in defiance, his throat clench up in refusal.

The worst part of it all, however, was that Dan didn’t mind the smell. He noticed it and was revolted by it, yes, but he could stand it. He stood in the doorway, looking across the contained sea of red water and meat covered white reefs, and he didn’t feel the need to rush away in disgust. He accepted this reality too easily, he felt.

It gnawed at his heart and sent selfish thoughts through his already sundered mind. Why didn’t I react in a normal way? Why was I okay with seeing people butchered like that? he wondered, reliving the tribulation again.

Madness brought him to his feet, the feeling of needing out rang strong in his mind. Fresh air would do the trick, right? Right? Dan found himself outside, wandering through the camp without impediment or prying eyes. In fact, those near looked away when he passed between their gazes.

The madness told him the other slaves were revolted by him. That being a murderer would get him nowhere in life and only bring troubles down the road. They were colluding and conspiring against him. That he needed to watch his back, that the camp would never be safe with him present.

Dan didn’t listen, instead focusing on one man who did meet his eyes. The man was the camp’s cook who lived in the shadows. His form was bathed in darkness and hidden by constricting mantles of black and purple. As he moved, a trial of ruin followed in his wake. Pebbles, dry grass, the occasional leaf, all swept up by invisible hands that occupied his dark cloak.

The cook motioned for Dan to follow him around the bend of the kitchen house. Dan hesitated, pulling at his core to remove the built-up madness but ultimately followed. He scanned the area as he went, looking for hidden threats and potential escape avenues. Cauldrons, slick wet wads of meat, hooks filled with monster appendages, and an oddly tidy spice rack met Dan as he entered the back kitchen door.

The cook, brooding and sleeting flakes of dark snow, stood tall. He eyed the human with yellow, disturbing orbs. Slowly, much to the dismay of Dan, the man pulled at his living shadows, removing them like skinning a goat. The darkness came off in one strict pull, revealing a pale yellow layer of skin.

“Can you heal it?” the cook asked, holding his naked arm out to Dan.

The former electrician shooed off the madness with a pulse from his light core. He stepped closer and asked, “What’s wrong with it? I do not know your kind.”

Expecting the question and statement, the man replied, “I spilt boiling shurmath on it. Bled right through my husk and onto my bone. The pain is unbearable. Can you help?”

Ignoring that the cook didn’t look as though he was in pain, Dan asked, “What is shurmath? And how is it supposed to look?”

The man raised his chin, causing a wave of devastation and enmity through Dan. The human stepped back, eying the door. The madness rushed in, whispering about things that didn’t make sense. Shurmath kept coming to his mind, unholy recipes and reagents invaded his mixing stomach. He smelt something, like Jokaad’s murder room.

It's not real, it's not real, Dan told himself, harnessing his core with greedy hands.

“Shurmath is what we are eating today,” the cook gestured to a cauldron of bubbling filth. Blue, thick, with mystery chunks about the size of an acorn.

Dan suppressed a shudder, finally ridding himself of hundreds of curled tendrils. He watched the man pull at his other arm, stripping it of its shadowy husk, and squinting at the result. The pale yellow bone was present but there was a thin silvery layer of milky mist. The mist morphed with the kitchen’s light, solidifying and darkening. Flacks of black slowly appeared, patching together around the yellow bone.

“Huh,” Dan said, branches of beauty forming in his mind.

Magic was something special to the young man. Seeing the brilliance of light magic had dulled somewhat over his time with the ability. Seeing something fruitful and new, however, brought him childlike excitement. Nevertheless, the madness tried to ruin the moment and attacked his captivated body.

The tendrils collided against but found no purchase, simply falling to the ground before trying again.

“I’m not sure I understand how your body is supposed to work, but I think I have seen enough to work with,” Dan explained. “I am a light magic user. Will that be a problem?”

The cook shook his head, slipping his shadows back over his bone. “I do not believe so. I will stop you if something arises.”

Dan nodded but was already looking inward at his core. Gently, like the morning sunrise, a ball of pure golden light formed along his palm. The ball took to the air, flattening into a thin halo before moving to the man’s injured arm. A burst of gold took form, growing and fluming into a pillar of warmth and resolve.

The light dissipated after a few moments, revealing a pale yellow bone with a smidgen of rounded mist. Dan sucked his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing. A second, and eventually third, orb of light came to life and reenacted the previous’ mime.

In the end, the mist fully formed around the cook’s hand which resulted in a tired Dan. His core felt the effects of three powerful healing spells, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. He felt accomplished, that he had done a job for someone rather than letting them stew in agonizing pain. He thought back to Jokaad. Would an earlier intervention have helped the troubled man? Was it an injury that set him into the madness’s crosshairs?

Dan didn’t know and he knew he never would.

The cook pulled him out of his internal monologue, “What do you want as payment?”

The human frowned, never having expected to be paid but he understood the reality of needing to be paid. “How about two trays of food… and a medium cauldron?”

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The cook eyed him strangely, but agreed.

Walking back through the camp with two trays of food and an oddly dark metal cauldron, Dan felt as though his head was cleared. Jokaad pulled at his mind still, something that wasn’t helped by the madness, but he understood, deep within his tortured heart, that putting the miner out of his misery was the best course of action. It was a dark and dangerous thought, but one that he felt to be correct and true. It just hurt to know that without the madness, Jokaad would probably never have become a murderer like he devolved to be.

Like Dan evolved to be.

Entering the prison, Dan understood that he was a hypocrite. Premeditated attempted murder was, in his eyes, worse that killing in self-defense. But he ached for Jokaad and not the high priest, even going so far as to think he would not to consider himself a murderer if his and Sully’s plan worked out.

There were better things to think about, however, and Dan found himself standing before one of them.

The door to Sully’s cell was closed shut and it didn’t have a window. It was metal, much like the others, but housed more privacy than the others . It came with being the oldest, the most tenured, Dan assumed. Although, he would never make the trade of freedom for a windowless door. He would give up doors entirely if it meant going back to Earth.

Dan knocked, “Sully, it's me. I brought food and something to possibly cheer you up.”

There was a meek groan, one Dan took as a “come in.”

Sully’s bottomless body, bordered in a thick glowing light, was front and center. His neck strained under the movement to look to the doorway, his thin gray hair finally being moved from its days’ long resting place. Sorrow and hurt filtered through his eyes, the chime of soft tears bulging around his irises. Anguish and grief consumed his lips, blame and hatred mixed throughout.

“Are you able to eat? Have you been eating?” Dan asked.

“Yes and no,” the old man answered in a quick defeated puff.

“When was the last time you ate something?”

“A year…”

Dan stared at the man, sadness and blame washing over him. This time he let the madness attach. He felt as though he needed the penance, that he deserved the bluntness.

“How are you alive without food?” Dan finally choked out.

This was received by a short smile. “Healing magic does wonders.”

It took some finagling, but Dan was able to lean Sully up and prop him against the wall. The old man never showed any pain, just longing for something different. He perked up when he got a tray of food in his hands, the blue and green slop was like pulpy sweet nectar. The red, not so much.

“What’s that for?” Sully asked after giving his portion of red mush to Dan. He gestured to the cauldron outside the cell by the door.

Dan smiled. “I’m going to get you some fresh air and clear your head.”

The elder looked at him incredulously, wondering if he lost his mind. He studied the young man, inspecting his posture and making inferences. “You killed someone,” he stated plainly.

Dan nodded, his smile faltering. “Jokaad the miner.”

“Seasons are changing. Expect more.”

The rueful statement threw Dan off. “What?”

“It's not your job to make them better, not mentally at least. Some people just break, it happens here. It is not your fault, do not blame yourself.”

“I don’t.”

Sully gave him a soft look. “I did.”

The momentum of a nod caused a tear to drop from Dan’s cheek. “It isn’t right.”

“You are right.”

“I want to help them.”

Sully looked down to his missing half. “We tried already, remember? Even if it was inadvertently, we tried.”

Dan nodded again, releasing the tension in his shoulders with stark defeat. He had accepted his new life months ago, well before being tapped in the Void. Looking at Sully made him come to terms with what his future would most likely be. He would fail, his blood core would be too weak, the seal on his light core would be too stiff, and he would be killed, maimed, or finally sacrificed.

The madness covered him like a fur coat. He shook them off.

His mind went back to the hallucination of Troop Leader Aisha. He had let her fall into the pit of the madness. Even if she was fake, his reaction to seeing someone he could help die was too much to bear. Regardless of whether his new life was forever, he didn’t want to see people die like that.

“Sully, I can see the madness now. I evolved.” Dan’s words echoed against the small stone room.

Old eyes met his body as the elder searched his chest. A skeletal hand reached out, patting Dan’s extended leg.

“Congratulations, but your statement confuses me. You can see the madness? In physical representation?”

“Yes, they look like tendrils, about the size of hairs. Except for one long one. It was more worm-like.”

Sully raised his chin, his mind calculating. “Interesting, very interesting. Have you told anyone else this?”

“No, but I noticed a few of the cultists react to the tendrils. They seem to see them as well.”

“Reacting and seeing are two different things. How do you know the cultists can see them?”

Dan frowned, but answered anyways, “Golden Robes traced the worm-like tendril. It rose from the ground and touched the top of the dome. Even below his cowl, I could tell his head was angled up.”

Sully stifled a cough, hiding his mouth with his hands. A streak of red was quickly clutched away. “This is most peculiar.”

“I don’t understand. Can you not see the madness? What about the high priest?”

“No and if he can, I have never seen any evidence. What you speak of is something I’ve never known was possible. It is bizarre that you and Golden Robes can see the tendrils.”

“I thought the cultists had some means of defense against the madness?” Dan asked.

“They do, shields.” Sully said with life in his eyes. “Shielding against something you know is there is easy. Identifying, not so much.”

“What does this mean then? Why am I special? Golden Robes and I share light magic… as do you.”

Sully raised a hand. “No, this is not magic. It is something more engraved into your being. Could Golden Robes have passed through the cave’s gate? Could you both be marked by the slumbering god in some way? Could Golden Robes be—”

Dan cut him off, “Could he be human?”

Sully nodded solemnly. “It would make sense, at least it could be probable. The species inhabiting this world are taken from vastly different realms. They always have different abilities and talents. Maybe humans have keener senses or extra senses.”

“No, no, no. That makes no sense. I mean, Bob had no idea about this place and acted like our appearance on that beach was something new… How long has Golden Robes been here?”

“Seventy years perhaps? Estimating distant time is never accurate,” Sully explained.

“Maybe Bob… just didn’t know?” Dan didn’t believe his own thoughts.

The conversation died down but the subject matter stewed in his head. If Golden Robes was human, what did that mean? Truthfully, Dan didn’t know. If there were two humans in this world, then that meant the lifeboat drifting was no accident. Or, at the very least, was no one-off. There would be other humans, right? Maybe outside of the Blood Rains?

While the idea didn’t exactly gather the grains of hope in Dan’s heart, it did strangely put him at ease. He was suffering through his new life, maybe others were suffering along with him.

He nearly threw up after realizing his selfish thought but one that did change the way he looked at things. The more people taken into this world, the more likely Earth was working to get them back home, right? Right…?

Dan’s thoughts eventually wandered back to the present. He gathered Sully’s empty tray and ventured back through the camp to the kitchen. After depositing Sully’s utensils, he hunted for a few lengths of robe all the while keeping an eye out for Golden Robes. The cultists were missing, however, leaving the main camp eerily quiet.

There were few slaves out as well, most of which slouched under the cover of shadows or peered out of thin windows. Movement caught Dan’s eye. Far away, near the edge of the dome was an iron cage. It was drenched in blood, like it had just been brought in from the bloody forest. A familiar smell bashed him in that moment, the familiar smell of death.

Dan dared move closer, a scratching in the back of his mind pulling him towards the anomaly. The cage was small, very small. No two people could sit comfortably within, but the emanating sobs told him the cage only held one. Or, at least, one alive. There was too much blood pooled around, even after a shower in the rain.

The sight of slick wet brown hair fighting against its curly nature made Dan’s heart skip. Tanned caramel skin dotted with deep freckles was stuck to a cloth T-shirt. Denim jeans were dyed with sick and washed with tears. Beautiful green eyes stuck out from the horror.

Human green eyes.

Even though the eyes were shocked with terror and dripping with mania, to Dan, they were a lighthouse. They pulled him in, they forced him to open the cage door, they needed a hug, one he could provide. His clothes sagged with blood, his skin smeared with roses, but he didn’t care.

“What are you doing?”

The voice pulled Dan from the delusion, reverting reality back to the center of the camp. A feeble cry fell from his back before landing and convulsing against the demented grass.

Eyes wide and heart like a drum line, Dan turned and found a worm. The tendril of madness shook with the gentle breeze of the camp, long dead and nothing more than a carcass. His eyes slowly drifted up, finding the shadowy form of the cook. Then the pain hit him.

His whole chest and inner arms were bright red and puffy. He was burnt, the grove lines and lip of a cauldron running along his wingspan. Behind him, a bubbling pot of delicious slop sat above a green crystal.

“I just- I…” Dan centered himself. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”

He quickly left, his feet taking him away as fast as possible. As he reached the prison, his outing quest came back to him. He needed rope, something the madness wouldn’t stop him from finding. As he searched an equipment closet full of mining gear, he rubbed the back of his neck where the worm had latched into him.

Powerful tendril, he thought, finding a plenty long length.

The cultists and guards were back out and wandering, something Dan thought should have keyed him into realizing the illusion sooner. They were always around, except after summoning monsters from the Void.

One cultist caught his eye, or rather was trying to be seen. Golden Robes was motioning for Dan to approach.