The iron doors were much lighter than they appeared. Grovalt pushed them open with relative ease, and with them a loud screech and banging noise echoed throughout the house.
“Zenzi, if you can hear me, I’m going into the mansion now.“ Grovalt’s deep voice bounced off the cold stone floor and reverberated in and out the main hall. Closing the doors behind him, he noticed light entering his view. He turned back around and was stunned to see every candle in the main hall suddenly lit all at once. Even with the realization that this mansion may very well be haunted, Grovalt also loosened up a bit. Well, at least I can see now, he thought.
Along every inch of the walls were great big paintings mounted onto them. With each one Grovalt’s eyes fell upon, a shudder ran up his spine. They featured a wide array of beasts and monsters, each more grotesque than the last. One was a black wolf with fierce eyes, another was of a swarm of spiders. But then as he walked further into the main hall, he realized that with each one the painter seemed to add more and more horrifying characteristics to them. There was some art of wolves that seemed as if they had been born of pure shadow, and another of spiders with the upper bodies of humans atop them.
Despite the horrific decoration, the hall was quite a sight to behold. Never in his life had Grovalt seen let alone experienced such a beautiful display of craftsmanship. Every detail, from the banisters, to the stairways themselves, to the foyer, to the rugs and floor were exquisite in every way. Though it was certainly old and decrepit, all of the time that the mansion had been wasting away did not wipe away its true splendor.
To Grovalt’s left, underneath one of the paintings was a message on the wall that read: ‘PETALS’. Underneath the message was a small table pressed against the wall, and atop it a note layed.
We revolve around the moon. I killed for it. I bled for it. It promised me that I would never be alone. That I would never lose her. What a fool I was, and what a fool I am. It doesn’t matter anymore. As long as I can escape those horrible chimes, I care not for life. If death is to be my friend, if it’s my only answer to the endless dark, it shall be my destiny.
Darling, if you are reading this, I ask that you cover your ears and run ‘till your feet bleed. And when they bleed, keep running. I love you, but love is not enough a reason to carry on like this.
Grovalt’s focused eyes trained on each word on the page, then trailed downward as he finished reading. He placed the note back on the table with an open palm, pressing it down. He breathed in, breathed out, and kept on the move.
Reluctantly, he took his first step up the long stairway to the higher floor. Each one left a muddy footprint within the soft fabric draped underneath him. Just as he made it halfway up, a great shadow covered the large window ahead for half a second. He froze in place, his head darting to examine every inch of what he had just witnessed. But there was nothing there besides winding hills and windy paths outside the manor.
The chill in the air did nothing but add to the bite of deafening silence in the mansion. There was nothing but the slight wispy sounds of the lit candles mounted on the walls. The paintings only added to Grovalt’s feeling of powerlessness. Every instinct in his brain told him that he was the prey, and that if he spent even a second longer in this house, he would be devoured.
He tried to ignore such a feeling. Fear would do nothing but impede his goal. He needed to find people for Zenzi, that much was clear to him. However, it seemed that this manor was the opposite of populated.
As his mind wandered, he found himself on the second floor. Still, there was no sign of a single living presence. There was a second stairway that led to the third floor just near him, and the second floor itself. The second floor seemed to be a series of hallways that intersected with one another and then separated out to various rooms. He walked through the halls, searching each room for life. All he could find were the remnants of such life. Clothes unworn for decades, broken mirrors, unmade beds, and peeling wallpaper littered each and every one.
He stopped when he found a family portrait that was intact. He blew cold air across it with his magic, sending waves of smoke across what he assumed to be the master bedroom. He studied the portrait closely. A man and a woman in lavish attire stood in front of the mansion, with two small children in front of them. They all had brilliant yet kind red eyes. One was dressed in black and had long, straight black hair. The other wore a white frilly dress and had short, white hair. There was an inscription at the bottom. He started to read it.
The floor creaked, and a woman spoke.
“Are you lost, child?“ The voice seemed befitting of an angel. It was like a melody, each syllable a wonderful instrument that landed like a feather upon Grovalt’s ears. It was a voice of uninvited tranquility.
Grovalt whipped around, dropping the portrait to the floor with a loud thud. As the dust settled around the room, his vision fixed on the woman in the doorway.
Her appearance was one of direct conflict with her heavenly intonations. Her ruby eyes shimmered, her ghostly apparel marked only by stains of rustic red. She gave him a warm smile, but as she did so revealed her deadly dagger-like fangs. Every part of her face directed Grovalt to be calm, while her demeanor and overall presence was overwhelmingly peregrine. This was no longer the woman of the portrait. This was someone else now. Something else now.
“Thy blood runs cold. Why do you fear me so?“ The woman’s voice again carried like song, but was muddled by a feeling of pure distrust in Grovalt’s heart. Her eyes sat in her skull, unblinking. Her gaze gave off the feeling of a predator gazing at prey and a mother looking at her children all the same. This odd fear he felt was indescribable. The walking contradiction in front of him cared not for the thoughts of outsiders.
“Forgive me, lady of the house. I thought this place was abandoned. My fears are simply due to this belief.“ Grovalt’s heart pounded in his chest. His blood did run cold. How would she detect such a thing?
“Quell them, child. I seeketh not sustenance, but time with the stars.“ Without any delay, she ran from the doorway and up the stairs to the third floor. It was as if she was asking him to follow her.
“Zenzi, do you hear me? I’m in some serious shit. There’s this creepy woman here. Is she one of the people I’m supposed to meet?“ Grovalt whispered under his breath, but no response rang in his head. With seemingly no other course to take, he followed the woman’s soft humming up the stairs.
The third floor was a large expansive room with a ceiling almost entirely constructed out of glass. It would be more fitting to call it a gigantic skylight, and at the center of it was a bronze telescope. The telescope was an enigma on its own. It appeared as if it was brand new, but it had carvings in it that would make one assume otherwise. Looking closely, it almost emanated an arcane glow. The woman was sitting next to it, drinking out of a teacup and staring up into the night.
“What is all this?“ Grovalt asked her.
“The moon grows silent evermore, so I turn to the stars for such guidance. What is a night sky without stars, after all~“
Grovalt truly did not know whether he should be afraid or puzzled. He settled for both. With the full moon hovering above their heads like a noose, he scanned the room’s walls. More paintings covered every part of them. Except, this time, they weren't monsters or beasts. They were of a young girl with sapphire eyes. It was as if she was a personification of the stars the blood-drunk woman spoke of. “Did you paint all of these? The ones downstairs as well?“
“They are my creations, but they are themselves. Freedom is still in their shadowed minds, they simply choose my lovely words to act on and obey. I do not disallow it. The stars, however, are not mine own. That is something I have borrowed other than time.“
Looking at the portraits, Grovalt felt a deep sense of unease. The iridescent, ghostlike woman who spoke in riddles did nothing but add to the weight pushing against his heart.
The lady got up from her chair and peered deep into Grovalt. Her eyes pierced his very soul with a spear of crimson lightning, only blinking after very long moments. “What color, I wonder, would thou like to be? Red, like mine own eyes? Or blue, like the stars and the girl who was sent from them? A warrior like thou would make a fine addition to my family. We would treat you nicely. We would love you. We would free you of all that once consumed you. We would give you nothing but affection, and free you of yourself, dear champion.“
Grovalt’s puzzled expression contorted into one of sternness, then fury. “I don’t need your love. All I want is the girl. Her name’s Asteria, right?“
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“Oh!“ The woman covered her mouth in surprise, as if Grovalt had said something unexpected to her. “Thy knowledge is greater than I thought. My moon did not tell me of such things. Yes, the girl is here now. Isn’t she beautiful? The moon told me of a young girl born from the stars, as enigmatic as the stars, and I just couldn’t help myself. Lady Imeldra does not turn a blind eye when the perfect piece is at her fingertips.“
Grovalt unsheathed his greatsword from his back and cemented himself into a fighting stance. For a moment, his grip on its hilt faltered, then steadied again. “Release her from the painting, and I will go. I wish for nothing more.“
Imeldra smiled warmly. She blinked slowly, as if capturing the man in front of her in a photograph. “Like night stars, she shines so effervescently. How could I not free her from such boredom? She was born caged, so freed her I did amongst a lieu of blood.“
Stillness. Grovalt didn’t know what this woman had the power to do, but he had to strike while he had the chance. He breathed in, his iron will locking him into this one path forward. He took a step towards Imeldra, but froze when he saw a familiar colossal shadow pass over them both. It shrouded them in darkness for just an instant, but that was all Grovalt needed to know he had to protect himself from a much greater threat on his life.
The glass ceiling shattered in a flurry of a thousand shards. Jagged stars and broken space dotted the cold marble floor and dirty rugs. A huge black mass fell into the middle of the room, with two smaller ones clinging to its back.
Grovalt carefully opened his eyes, making sure the glass didn’t tear his face to shreds. Pieces fell and bounced off of his raised arm. As his gaze shifted from his armguard to the destruction before him, the black mass was identified. A black dragon was its true form, and atop it were two humans. One of them was a young girl wearing very basic clothing. The other was a young man, looking as if he had just stepped out of some sandswept dunes. The bizarreness of everything fled from Grovalt’s consciousness. His only goal at the moment was to survive, by any means necessary.
Nakir raised his head, shattered glass trickling down his onyx scales. It took him no time at all to observe his surroundings. “Repent, fiends! Repent before the black dragon Nakir.“
Ceres and Raum jumped from Nakir’s back, their feet crushing the skylight’s corpse beneath their feet. “Asteria!“ Ceres yelled, running toward the portrait of her stolen sister. Before she could react, however, an orb of rust-colored liquid jettisoned into her chest, exploding and blowing her backward into the sea of scattered shards.
Imeldra’s extended hand lowered back to her side, an ominous chime ringing off into nothingness. “Blood is so versatile a paint. My brush is an emissary for beauty.“
“Ceres!“ Nakir boomed, his vision turning from her bloody body to her attacker. “How dare you!“ He raised a claw to punish the woman, but it was frozen in place by blood-red runes.
Another chime resonated in the air, and as Imeldra raised her other arm to cast a spell, the floor beneath them all gave way. The entire top floor collapsed under the immense weight of the dragon, and with it the second floor, all the way down into the foyer.
The noise was deafening. Plumes of smoke and dust filled the air as concrete and marble broke into rubble and the wooden stairs disintegrated into misshapen splinters. The remains of the once beautiful mansion still retained their unmoving brilliance, but the brilliance in its beauty was one of how it looked juxtaposed to how it once was. It was now a husk. All that stood were the walls that surrounded the fallen gathering. All the while, the moon still hung and shone just the same as before, unchanged in the destruction.
The maiden of blood was already up and looming over a battered Ceres. The two met eyes through the settling smoke. Neither flinched at the sound of falling debris.
“Where’s… my sister… you bitch…?“ Ceres eked out.
Imeldra covered her mouth again in another act of surprised astonishment. “I don’t understand what you mean. I already told you. She is mine now. The center portrait above, that is her. Clad in ink, my dear.“
Ceres attempted to get up, but the pain that lingered from the fall shot a spear through her spine and into her skull. An invisible force akin to gravity pinned her to the ground beneath her. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Dear girl, don’t think I do this for no reason. This is what she wanted. The moon whispered of the stars and told me that they demanded to be set free. That village you call home was nothing more than a barless cage. One day, you will understand.“
“Set… free? Was killing those innocent people setting them free? Stop lying to yourself. Your actions were only for your own gain. You’re a monster.“
“Perhaps I am, hybrid. But sometimes we must be monsters to defeat monsters. You should know that.“ Imeldra revealed a ritualistic dagger from under her dress and slit open her palm. A cascade of blood began flowing down her arm and onto her stained attire. With two swift motions, she threw her hand left and right, splattering the various portraits of monsters on the walls around them with crimson droplets.
The paintings began to contort and seemingly melt, the ink and blood melding together as one. One by one, each of them birthed a fleshy orb that fell onto the floor in a bloody splash. After mere seconds, they pulsed and mutated, building upon each other until becoming beasts of pure shadow. They began snarling and barking, yet held themselves back while they waited for their master’s order.
Grovalt, now in the corner of the room, pushed large rocks of concrete off of himself. He thanked the stars above that he had not been impaled by some manner of broken bannister or fallen chandelier. Despite the pain surging through his back and muscles, Grovalt grasped his greatsword and stood to witness the confrontation. Imeldra was bearing down on a small girl with strange limbs and a wicked eye. Even more alarming was the unmoving body of a black dragon in the opposite corner of the room from him, though it seemed to be unconscious after the fall.
“It seems,“ Grovalt said, chuckling and reeling from the hindrance that locked his body, “that this place of yours wasn’t built for a dragon’s weight.“
Imeldra turned around, her scarlet eyes stabbing Grovalt’s heart once more. Her expression had not changed. It was a warm expression. A mother’s smile. Her attention drifted from the man in front of her to the rays of moonlight shining down upon them. The smoke and dust had mostly cleared. Now she could bathe in the moon’s gaze once again.
“Certainly, it is so. What’s your plan now, hmm? It seems to me that you are quite literally cornered, my dear. Please, I do not wish you hurt. I’ll offer you peace one more time. Join my darling Asteria in perfect bliss, or succumb to the same fate as her accursed village.“
Grovalt looked behind Imeldra. The odd girl was plastered with blood, a scowl on her face. Nonetheless, she was trying to stand. Even after everything, she was still fighting. Even through the coldness of life and the strife she must have endured, her determination kept her moving. Who was he to back down when a young girl wouldn’t even dream of it? A half-smile appeared on his pale face.
“Go to hell.“
The monstrous beasts of convulsing darkness began to move forward. Imeldra lowered her head slightly and closed her eyes. “I see,“ she said, “then tremble thy warrior. Tremble before a dark world with a gaping maw.“
All of the monsters charged at once. As they neared Grovalt, it became clear that this would not be a series of one-on-one fights. This would be a man fighting off a pack of dogs. Only these dogs were nothing short of abominations. The first to reach him was a grotesque ball that lunged forward with the power of seven legs. Each leg had claws akin to razor-sharp talons that tore through the marble floor with each ravenous movement.
Grovalt stamped his front foot down, swung the sword to his left side, and with one swift motion sent his greatsword flying through the dusty air and into the beast’s side. Its gooey innards split upon direct contact with the black steel, sending the monster flying to the left and right in two symmetrical halves.
As soon as he could peer through the middle of his defeated foe, however, another one made itself known to him. An onyx, humanlike hand with daggers for fingernails outstretched through its ally’s form and carved a deep gash into Grovalt’s left arm.
Wincing from the pain, he raised his blade to deflect a strike from another one of its arms. Two others appeared at his sides, reaching out to cut through his legs. With a closed fist, icy runes lit up his arm, and a shockwave of frost blasted out from his body in all directions. The painted aberrations flew backward, ice forming across the front halves of their wretched bodies. Grovalt moved backward as well to observe what he was still dealing with.
It seemed the blast had only managed to freeze the three that were in front of him, and the others were only affected by its force. They were recovering, and fast. Not only that, Grovalt realized that this was all but a distraction. Imeldra was beginning to do something to the girl.
Grovalt steadied himself. He had already killed one with little issue. He could do it again. And again. And again. He centered his blade with his body, and placed his left hand on it. Slowly, he slid his hand from its hilt to its edge, all the while expelling as much ice across it as he could muster in that moment. A misty blue energy surrounded the blade and encased it in an ultra-thin layer of rime. With a centered stance, he rushed forward toward the scrambling beasts.
Cut. Slash. The two that had tried to assault his flanks before were reduced to nothing more than black, icy mush. Two others appeared where they fell. They too were cut down in a matter of seconds.
The farthest one away and the largest one, a hideous mixture of two hounds, howled into the midnight sky. Its protectors left its side and went for Grovalt’s throat. Grovalt pulled back his blade to deflect, and with it, the claws of the unfortunate beasts were indeed deflected and covered with creeping frost. Its deadly chill crept up throughout their slimy intestines and matted fur, completely freezing them in place.
One more. The huge, shadowy hound charged at him full force with jaws open and fangs searching for fresh blood. Steel was all the beast would taste. Grovalt had run the monster through, his greatsword piercing the back of its throat and impaling the rest of its body. In one brilliant motion, he yanked the blade back out, crimson blood dyeing its entirety. The beast stood there for a second, unmoving, until finally it crippled underneath its own weight and fell into a gooey mess of fur, blood, and ink.
Grovalt swung his blade outwards, and with it most of the residual blood from his enemies was flung into the nearby wall. Finally, it was done. He moved toward Imeldra.
The woman was bent over Ceres, seemingly whispering something into her ear. When she noticed Grovalt moving toward her, she stood back up again. “It seems the hybrid is just not meant to be mine.“
“She isn’t some object for you to use for one of your paintings, let alone to trap in one. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I do know that some woman who kidnaps children and harbors monsters deserves to be punished. If the Imperium won’t do it, then I will.“
Imeldra let out a gaudy laugh. “Then come, child. Make your choice. Cry beneath an angel of death.“