With the cave’s ceiling as his only horizon, Havoc could not tell if it was day or night when he awoke. As he unbundled himself from his fur bedroll, he noticed the others were already awake. They sat around the restored flames of their campfire, pausing their muted talk as he packed his sleeping mat into a tight roll. Suspended above the flames was a copper pot, with the fire tonguing its bottom. From the uncovered top, savoury steam wafted. Havoc’s stomach growled. After days of subsisting on nothing but flavourless biscuits and strips of meat, he would have been horrified, but not surprised, had his ravenous appetite clawed through his flesh to pounce upon the first decent meal encountered since his trials began. Caution and restraint were reserved for well-fed beasts. As though tugged by a leash, he walked towards the group.

‘I hope you find yourself well rested, we will be leaving this foul place the moment after we fill our stomachs,’ Aaron said.

Naereah glanced at Havoc. The momentary movement attracted a glance from Aaron and she hastily refocused her flustered attention to the pot. With wooden ladle in hand, she gently stirred the thick, brown stew simmering above the fire. She lifted the ladle and gently dabbed it on her palm. Raising her hand to her mouth, she licked the stew from her hand then returned the ladle to the pot.

‘The stew is ready, my lady,’ Naereah said, her tone subdued. She looked up at Lucia before quickly lowering her gaze.

‘That is wonderful, pet. Be a good girl for me and go fetch the bowls.’ Lucia said. Havoc could read some form of satisfaction in Lucia’s smile, but blank was her expression of any markings of joy. Cruelty masking jealously, that is what Havoc saw. He had not known the brown haired beauty for long, but from their short interactions he had concluded his judgement.

Malignant.

In the slums of Stone Haven, there was no shortage of such people. Those for whom the greatest pleasure—their only pleasure—was derived from the degradation of others.

Naereah stood from the log on which she sat and walked a distance towards a chest. The lid opened, pouring crimson mist upon the moss-draped ground. When the smog cleared, five wooden bowls sat stacked atop one another. In the top bowl, there were five spoons. She returned to the fire. Taking the ladle from the pot, she filled the bowls one by one, passing them to the gathered party. The last of the stew was hers. Scraping the bottom of the pot, she could only fill her bowl to far less than half-full. Having taken her meagre portion, she stood and bowed her head towards her mistress before retreating a distance from the group to sit alone.

Stew seeped from the lip of Havoc’s bowl. Its meaty fragrance filled his nostrils. Salivating like a vagrant before an unwatched pie, he wanted nothing more than to shovel the contents of his dish into his mouth and lick the bowl clean.

‘Excuse me.’ Havoc said to the others gathered around the fire. Cupping the wooden bowl in both hands, he walked to Naereah. Wide eyed, she glanced. Her lips parted and closed as she croaked unformed words.

‘My lord?’ She finally managed to say. But before she could speak further, Havoc took his seat opposite her.

‘Hold out your bowl,’ Havoc said. Naereah looked into her stew, her pitch-black eyes wavering, then extended her bowl towards him.

‘If I was being too greedy—” Naereah said. Before she could finish her sentence, Havoc tipped his stew into her bowl until both his and hers were level. Her eyes and her mouth widened. Hers was not the momentary gasp of mild surprise. Rather, the pale-blue face of the otherworldly girl silently shouted true astonishment. It was as though the smallest gesture of kindness was alien to her. She tried to resist the invasion of seemingly foreign emotions. Havoc could see her efforts clearly—teeth biting down on her corner lip, eyes opened then shut, blinking away her budding tears—but nothing she did could disguise her feelings. She was moved.

Far too moved for such a small gesture… How much have you suffered? He asked himself not for the first time.

‘Don’t waste yer meal on ‘er. Can’t fight, that one.’ Ugly shouted from behind, humour carrying in his tone. ‘Girl’s about ‘alf as useful as a healin’ potion.’

‘He’s right,’ Naereah whispered. Face low, the drips and ripples of her stew betrayed any attempt at concealing her tears.

Havoc’s eyes rolled down Naereah’s skeletal frame.

She’s fed just enough to keep her moving.

Initially, he thought her emaciated state was the result of the White Temptress’ neglect; without question, the time spent as the Abomination’s thrall would not have aided in her upkeep, but her mistreatment had begun long before she fell victim to that serpent’s predations.

‘If it’s too much, throw the rest away,’ Havoc did not wait for her response before dipping his spoon into the stew and drawing a chuck of meat from the bowl. Tears streaking her cheek, Naereah looked to Havoc. With a sleeve of her oversized, grey dress, she wiped the tears from her eyes and began to eat. Having swallowed her first spoonful, she returned her lightless eyes to Havoc, her lips lifting into a smile. Reserved but sincere, she bore the countenance of a wilting violet tended and treated—sunken but beautiful. With a little more care, she would be radiant.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

‘Thank you,’ She said, her voice quivering.

‘Just eat,’ Havoc replied as he scooped another mouthful.

Sitting in silence and stolen glances, the two continued to eat. When both bowls emptied, Havoc stood. Reaching down a hand, he lifted the Selenarian to her feet and they re-joined the party. Naereah gathered the dishes and washed them in a bucket of water pulled from her chest. Her task completed, she returned the cutlery to the scarlet mist and the chest fizzled from existence.

‘As we had decided last night, we shall choose to trust in our new friend.’ Aaron said, gesturing towards Havoc. ‘He says our seer lives, and I mean to assist in her rescue.’

Standing opposite Aaron, Ugly scratched the back of his head. He pulled something from his hair and rubbed his thumb between his fingers, sprinkling dust to the ground. ‘Find it ‘ard to believe, myself. How many people you know surviving that thing?’

When Ugly had shared the tale the night prior, Havoc began to doubt his own experiences. Had his only meeting with Annalise been within the opulent teahouse, he might have dismissed her as a vivid apparition. But he had seen her alive. Bloodied and unsightly, entombed in stone and infested with vines, but alive.

Separated from the larger teams of mercenaries, Annalise had led a group of twenty, fleeing into the cave. Two weeks did they travel to reach the top of the cave. The forest above promised safety;’ therein they could rest, regroup, and contemplate their return below... Not one was willing to surrender the Tears of Desire.

As close as they were to the exit, they lowered their guard. Nothing truly dreadful spawned within the cave’s peak. Even as a new Inheritor, barely did Havoc struggle against the fiends he had encountered therein. It was no surprise a group as powerful as theirs would become complacent; what had they to fear from slashers and scratchers?

Havoc could still see the lingering horror in Ugly’s face from when he described the Abomination. Aaron had shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even Lucia’s devilish smile quivered. Oddly, the only member of the party who had shown no reaction was Naereah… Havoc could only guess at the nightmares she had to compare with.

From Ugly’s rendition, as soon as one blinked their eyes was, the chamber covered by them. Suffused to the walls, ceiling, and floor countless eyes stared. Horizontal, blood-filled, and lifeless, the eyes moved where they moved. From between the gaps of the ocular organs, fleshly, green vines sprouted. In a spiral running from the base of the vines to their tips were rows of jagged teeth. They formed unholy mouths from which the creature spoke.

‘Blasphemy!’

‘Blasphemy!’

‘Blasphemy!’

As Aaron described it, from many mouths, they spoke with one voice, condemning the ones who would usurp the thrones of the only true gods.

“The Sentinels of Perdition.”

The group ran to escape. Seventeen fled in the direction of the cave’s exit, four sprinted backwards. Spared were the four as the Abominable Spirit spread to pursue the larger group.

‘It ain’t likely is all I’m sayin’,’ Ugly said, snapping Havoc from the same dark reverie he could still see in the wide and quivering eyes of Aaron and Lucia.

Shaking his head before clearing his throat, Aaron regained his composure. ‘Our friend has told us he has met with Annalise and that she has devised a means of her rescue. This Cell is too dangerous to traverse absent a seer. There is no better plan than to assist in her recovery,’ Aaron said.

‘Darling has has decided, so there is nothing to gain by dawdling,’ Lucia said in a playful tone, wrapping herself around Aaron’s arm. By the scrunch of his face, being so close to the undeniably beautiful girl aroused only his discomfort and contempt.

Having recovered his satchel of dried biscuits and meat from the tunnel he had entered the White Temptress’ lair through the night before, now safely stored within Naereah’s trunk, Havoc’s only act of preparation was completing his attire. He pulled the braces latched to his mustard-coloured trousers over his loose-fit, white shirt, donned his borrowed tail-coat, and tucked his scarlet neckcloth into place.

Must be careful, someone might mistake me for a respectable young man, he quietly mocked. Immediately following the slaying of the serpentine Abomination, he had absorbed its glowing remains and strengthened his core. Naught left to do but leave, he offered no resistance as Aaron led the party towards the sapphire staircase spiralling down from the centre of the lair.

****

Shoulders back, right leg crossed over her left, Annalise sat upon her white and elegant bistro chair. Her face serene, she lifted a crystal tea-cup to her lips and sighed. The warmth of the amber liquid spread across her tongue and flowed down her throat. Returning the cup to its saucer, she sighed once more. Restrained as it was, there was no shortage of bitterness in her tepid breath; even in her memories, she could not enjoy the flavour.

Within the Grandfather’s Cell, she had lost her sense of taste. Sacrificed to the god of that world, she had reaped a bounty of nothing. There were other pleasures in life—the guilty rapture at having survived that hell was not to be looked down upon, the power she felt having emerged a Soldier was delightful, and little could compete with the knowledge that the quiet fury burning inside would one day ignite the whole cursed world—but on days such as this, she truly missed the simple comfort of a fragrant cup of tea.

As the lavish teahouse of her imagination began to quake, and dust poured down from the jingling, crystal chandeliers above, she would have taken any comfort on offer.

There was not much time. She was alive only because the Abominable Spirit could not find her. Though her body was invaded, she had withdrawn into the battlements of her mind through the power of her Remnant. For now, she was safe, but her body was being dragged down through the stone of the cave. The closer she went towards the Abominable master of the labyrinth, the harder it would be to remain hidden.

The teahouse ceased its rumbling; she had evaded detection. Heart quickening in her chest, she waited. The Abomination had likely ended it search, but she was always cautious of peeking into the real world moments after its activity. When enough time passed that she was confident that the Abominable Spirit had given up for the day, she closed her eyes to look into the world through the All-Seeing Owl.

‘Oh, well done,’ Annalise said, watching from above as Havoc and his companions descended from a sapphire staircase.

Perched atop the desolate remains of a building, she inspected the surroundings. In her ascent to the top of the cave, she had not come across the chamber. A vast ruin, crumbled structures and mounds of rubble were scattered as far as she could see.

Rather bleak, I would say.

Perhaps once a thriving subterranean civilisation, the chamber she watched Havoc stride deeper within was laid to waste. Gravelled was the ground in the stone of the decimated architecture. Though patches of brown vegetation somehow poked from the stone, Annalise could not mistake the scene for vibrant.

Through her raptor’s ears, she heard the crunch of boots grinding forward. That pitiable Crest boy led the way deeper into the chamber. They were careful, slow to move, they scrutinised their surroundings. Could they see from below what Annalise saw from above, they would have been more cautious still. Had they her sight, they would never have approached the wreckage of the mausoleum of which they were now so close. For beneath the collapsed roof the monument, a sleeping horror stirred.